


Reap the Whirlwind

by gwendolynflight



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU from "Terminus", Beth Lives, Body Horror, Canon Divergence, Confused Rick, Graphic Violence, Hand Jobs, M/M, Miscommunication, Requited Unrequited Love, Rick gets to kill everyone he wanted to kill, Rick is still struggling, Slow Burn, Torture, Whump, but at least not with Daryl, depictions of ptsd, fixit fic, references to cannibalism, which has some consequences, yay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 83,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9227642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolynflight/pseuds/gwendolynflight
Summary: Accidentally left behind in Terminus, Rick takes his revenge. But can he live with what he’s done?





	1. They Have Sown the Wind

Rick was hauled from the train car, choking on thick smoke, ears ringing, bewildered by the speed with which all their plans had fallen apart. Rough hands knocked him to the asphalt, someone kicked him in the ribs mid-cough and his diaphragm froze. He hacked, panicking a little. The flash bang had created a haze, and through it he could see only the legs of the men dragging away other bodies. Whose bodies? He couldn’t breathe. The smoke seemed thicker.

A hand grabbed him by the collar and hauled him across the pavement, jerkily, one rough stride at a time, and the jolting freed his lungs enough that he sucked in a breath, then another. Other hands grabbed at his legs, and, coming back to himself, he twisted, trying to get free, but then someone caught his flailing hands and a bag was yanked down over his head. He kept struggling as his hands were forced into zip ties, thrashing his body in their hold, but it did no good, there must be five men on him and he was weakening fast. 

He felt the change in the air when they got him inside – and in the sound of things, sort of muffled in the way very large rooms seem to swallow up noise. He jerked against their hands, reminding them he was there, but he was carried implacably forward, into a smaller room that stank of death, and dropped abruptly on the floor.

All the breath went out of him, again, and he wheezed until the hands got him upright. It was a short relief, as they immediately planted him in a chair, a wooden, ladder-backed chair, and tied his arms to the slats. He was panting, some awful smell coating the inside of his mouth, and his throat, but he tried to quiet himself, listening for the others. Nothing. They’d pulled more of his people out of that box car, why couldn’t he hear them?

The hood was yanked up, and he flinched back.

He was in a meat locker. They'd carried him into a fucking meat locker.

The lights were unusually bright, and he blinked rapidly, taking in the small, square, steel-clad room, the red and pink torsos hanging from hooks attached to the ceiling like sides of beef, but with very human abs, and nipple rings, and tattoos. 

It wasn’t really a meat locker, technically, but an old unit for storing refrigerated cargo. It was bright with the humming fluorescents, but they must not have had enough power for the refrigeration units, because the little room was not cold enough to be storing meat in it. The smell was thick, and the longer he stared at those brutalized torsos the thicker it seemed to get until he was gagging on it.

A fist to the jaw brought him back to himself. He glared up at the man who’d hit him, a big bald asshole in an apron, and spat. Bloody saliva splattered across the side of the man’s neck, and his fist whipped out, slamming into the left side of Rick’s face.

The pain caused everything to go white for a moment. The other man was talking when his head had cleared.

“… have to understand that we’re reasonable people. We would have offered you a choice."

Rick probed at the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. He spat again, this time missing the man. “Fuck your choice.” Even with these assholes looming over him, all Rick could see was those bodies, swinging gently in a nonexistent wind.

The bald man hit him again, hard enough that the chair went over, and Rick through the haze of pain thought he heard a crack. 

“Now you don’t get a choice anymore,” the first man was saying. Something like that. “Now you’re meat.”

The asshole in the apron led the other men out of the little room, and closed the thick steel door behind him. It was clearly heavy, and its closing had a sound of finality.

Rick lay there and panted, trying to breathe shallowly, through the smell, and through the pain in his ribs. He should have known he wasn’t healed enough for something like this. He should never have led his people into this place.

The floor was coated in blood, old blood, not spatters but streams and rivers of it, running from those trimmed torsos toward the wide drain set in the floor. This drain was covered with a grate with small square holes in it. The floor was sticky beneath his cheek, and where his hands brushed against it. He didn’t really have a plan, but the feeling of being trapped gnawed at him, and he started turning his wrists restlessly against the plastic ties binding him to the chair. His feet were free, so at least he knew these people were idiots, and if he could just convince his aching body to push him upright, he could break the chair and go find the others. 

There was almost no slack in the zip ties. Getting his knees underneath him forced Rick to bend almost in half, and he grunted, feeling his shoulders burning and his busted ribs like ground glass, the blood hot in his face, but he had it, he had the right leverage and he pushed himself up—

Something popped, and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

When he came to, he was back in the damn chair. 

He was upright again, still bound but with what felt like rope, his lax body trying to slouch down but held tight to the wooden slats by his bonds. And his damn feet were tied. 

Fuck. Maybe they weren’t complete idiots.

That overly neat fellow from the radio room, Gareth, must have been standing behind him, because he waited for Rick to fully comprehend how fucked he was before stepping into view.

Rick jerked a little against the ropes, heart leaping in his chest. “What?” he demanded, suddenly angry, hell, furious. 

Gareth smiled; he seemed to be trying for cool, unbothered, but there was something unsettling in his dark eyes that made every expression seem sadistic. 

“What do you want?” Rick ground out, a word at a time, between gritted teeth.

“Not your cooperation, exactly.” Gareth seemed to muse on that for a moment. “But we could use some fresh meat—“

Rick jerked, and Gareth laughed. “’Scuse the expression, some new recruits, I meant, and in spite of our personal differences, I thought I’d offer you the chance to save some of your people.”

“How?”

“You tell them to join us,” Gareth said, serious now. 

Rick felt his eyebrow going up, almost of its own accord. “Are you shitting me?”

“Or I could start processing them now,” he snapped, and started to turn away.

“Okay, now, wait,” Rick stammered, trying to buy time, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Just, wait.”

Gareth paused, gestured for him to continue.

“Just, look, this doesn’t need to go down this way,” Rick tried, feeling an inescapable sense of déjà vu. “We could just walk away, no one else has to die here.” It hadn’t worked before, and Rick almost flinched, anticipating the Governor’s words out of this kid’s mouth, but he pressed on. “I know things have … happened, but you could just let us go. We could all live.”

Gareth was silent for a long moment, and Rick waited, whole body tensed.

Those narrow shoulders curved in beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and Gareth seemed to fold in on himself, and Rick thought maybe this time, maybe he’d gotten through to him, maybe it would be okay—but then those shoulders went square, brittle and sharp, and Gareth’s voice seemed to rumble out of him: “The hell we could.” 

Rick jerked his head back, but Gareth got a fist in his hair, braced himself by pressing in tight to Rick’s left side so he could pull Rick’s head down until the back of his neck just touched the wood of the chair’s top slat. 

“There is one other thing I do want,” Gareth said, sounding calm again. “That bag, the one you hid in the woods.”

“What bag?” Rick gritted out. 

“Our scout on the road saw you go into the woods with a bag, a big bag, but you came in here without it.” Gareth paused, his hand tight in Rick’s hair sort of rolling Rick’s neck along the back of the chair. “What’s in the bag?”

“Go to hell.” Rick’s throat was stretched taut, breath whistling, arms straining.

Gareth moved toward Rick’s right side, leaning over him now. The position put more pressure on Rick’s throat, and his breaths came shallower, more strained. Gareth shifted, and his sleeve covered Rick’s mouth, and Rick’s head started to hurt, a pounding at his temples, and now Gareth was saying something but it seemed very far away and unimportant as the pain in his head grew sharper.

A hand slapped his cheek. 

Rick blinked. And he was breathing again – as deeply as he could, even with the smell. It was probably worse that he was starting to get used to it. He shifted. 

He was slapped again, and his response of glaring up at Gareth seemed to satisfy the man in some perverse way.

“What’s in the bag?” Gareth asked, smiling again. “Or should I bring in one of your friends.”

Rick’s heart skipped a beat. God, he wanted to see them, wanted to see Carl, or Daryl, but he didn’t want them in here, being smothered by a madman. He spat, trying to buy a little time to gather his thoughts.

“Well?” Gareth demanded, gesturing toward the door.

“Guns,” he said. His voice was rough, hoarse, and he coughed. 

Gareth took a step back, spread his arms wide and grinned. “Now that was easy, wasn’t it? What kind of guns?”

Rick ran his tongue over dry lips. “All kinds. AK-47, automatic rifles, night scope, a crossbow, and, uh, a machete with a red handle.” Gareth was looking so pleased with himself, and Rick felt his lip curl in response. “And that’s what I’m going to use to kill you.”

Gareth smirked. “Sure.” And Gareth kicked him square in the chest. Rick flew over backward, crashing down on his bound arms, breastbone throbbing – his head smacked into the floor, stunning him.

“But I still need to know where that bag is.”

*********************

Time had passed, he didn’t know had much. Gareth had kicked him a few times, but it didn’t seem like he had his heart in it, and eventually Gareth had left again, the steel door slamming shut behind him. 

Lying flat on his back, even with his new, splitting headache, he could see a little bit more of the room. There were tables over against the wall, and he thought he could see tools on them, maybe blades for butchering. If he could get free of this chair, he could surprise that little prick when he came back.

If he bothered to come back.

Rick still had the wooden sliver he’d pried from the box car up his sleeve, literally. His arms were bound so tightly to the chair he wasn’t sure he could get it out, but he started to try, finding a tiny bit of space for his wrists to turn beneath the chair, getting his fingertips just twisted enough to brush the edges of his sleeve. 

He could feel it, he could almost feel it. He had his lower lip between his teeth, a bad habit but one he always fell into when he was trying to concentrate. Working his shoulders for more leverage, he writhed against the hard frame of the chair, edging himself just a little bit closer … until it finally slipped into his hands. He sagged with relief. Finally, something was going his way.

He had just begun sawing at the plastic ties binding his wrists when he heard the first screams.

His heart started to knock into his ribs, and he redoubled his efforts, the edges of the wood sliver cutting into his hands but he pressed harder as the screams cut off abruptly, too abruptly. His head was spinning, and it was hard to think, but he thought he knew that voice, even through the steel door he knew that voice, and he yanked at the zip ties as someone else started screaming, another man, but again those screams cut off, like a flipped switch. 

The frantic sawing, and wrenching at it with all the strength in his shoulders, and the zip ties finally popped loose. He wasted no time, pulling himself up to work on the ropes binding him to the slats of the chair. Those were almost easier, and he listened for the screaming, nearly through when another man yelled, then stopped yelling. He couldn’t tell if he knew these men, couldn’t tell if he was imagining that first familiar voice, or imagining that the last two hadn’t been Daryl and Glenn, or Carl and Bob. Nearly sobbing with effort now, he got his arms free, then rolled off of the chair with a grunt of pain, curling in on himself to get to the zip tie around his feet. 

There hadn’t been another set of screams. He really wasn’t sure what that meant.

The zip ties around his ankles popped free, and he was just climbing to his feet when he heard the first gunshot. His heart leapt again, and he held onto the wall, listening for another. It came quickly, then a third, and he staggered over to the table in the corner. His arms were both tingling where they’d been crushed beneath him, his ribs feeling more shattered than broken, his head tight with pain, but he smiled. 

Now he had a weapon.

Just as he was reaching for the machete, an explosion shook the room, knocking him to the floor in a clatter of knives on stainless steel. The torsos on their hooks swayed, and the door jerked in its frame. 

There was a buzzing, in his head. He lay there for what seemed like an age, watching the bodies swing lazily back and forth, and slowly, it seemed, he started to hear gunshots, but muffled, as if from far away. His hand groped along the sticky floor, found the handle of a knife, and he pulled himself to his feet using the table and wall for support. The gunshots seemed louder, and all at once were very loud and close by, and his head came up, straightening his body, and he knew what to do.

The door was still in its frame, barely, but its locking mechanism had been shaken loose, and Rick got his shoulder into the heavy door and shoved, panting, shoved again, lightheaded now but with the machete in his hand, and shoved again, stumbling out into a hallway dark with smoke and loud with the sound of walkers. 

“Out of the frying pan,” he muttered to himself. A dead hand grasped at his shoulder, but he brushed it off, like brushing off a fly, and slashed it across the face hard enough to penetrate the skull. It went down, and he took off, fast but at a low crouch. He didn’t know what had caused the explosion, or what was going on, but he was going to find his people, and they were going to get out of there alive, and he was going to kill every motherfucker in Terminus.

Righteous anger sustained him through the long hallway, through a small clutch of walkers, into the large, strangely airless room he’d been carried through while blinded by that hood. What he saw now made his blood run cold. 

A trough ran through the middle of the space, bright stainless steel, clearly well-maintained, unlike the meat locker he’d been kept in. Three bodies were draped over the side of the trough, face down in it, their hands bound behind them with zip ties, feet bound together, the backs of their heads bashed in, and when he circled around he saw that their throats had been slit wide open. Rick swallowed. Across the room sat three large bins, labeled ‘Burn,’ ‘Feed,’ and ‘Wash,’ and beside them a surgical table, all in stainless with a drain, like they used for autopsies at the county morgue, and there was a body on it, a dead body, with one leg missing. That bald asshole was laid across the floor, someone’s belt buckle in his throat, still wearing his damn apron. 

But his people weren’t here, none of these were his people. He didn’t know them. 

Had Glenn been the one sharpening his belt buckle? Rick couldn’t remember, maybe it had been Daryl. 

There was a knife, like a big, square butcher’s knife, on the surgical table by the body; he wiped most of the blood off of it, and stuck it in his belt. Now he had two weapons. 

There was screaming in the distance, a lot of it, and gunfire, and he knew someone must have blown up the gates or part of the fence and let in a herd of walkers. His mouth twisted with a combination of hatred and glee; whoever had done this, and for whatever reason, they’d given him a chance. And they’d given these Terminus assholes what they deserved.

If his people had been in this room, he wouldn’t be able to figure out where they’d gone, but he could get back to the train car, meet up with everyone, and they’d fight their way to the fences from there. Surely if any of his people had been in this slaughterhouse, they would know to do the same. 

Only problem was, Rick had been blindfolded. He didn’t know the layout of the place, or how to get back to the train car. 

The only other open door that led out of the slaughtering room opened onto a hallway, and a small group of walkers; he killed three of them and hobbled a fourth, and then he looked up and down the hallway, trying to decide whether he should be heading toward the gunfire or away from it. Right or left.

He went left.

The short hallway opened into a smaller, darker room, a secondary charnel house. Rick brought his hand to his mouth, and tried to breathe through the sleeve of his jacket. There were more half-butchered bodies, more torsos hanging from the ceiling, four more steel surgical tables laid out with fresh bodies, abandoned mid-process. There wasn’t much else to see, except for a table against the back wall, and he moved toward it, quickly, past the bodies. But something caught his eye, and his footsteps slowed of their own accord.

It was his hat.

Sitting in the middle of the table was his hat that he’d given Carl, and had last seen on his son’s head.

It was like someone else’s hands reached out and picked up the hat, turned it over, like someone else’s eyes saw the slick of blood inside. 

“Carl?” he whispered. Then realization struck him, and he whirled back around to face those steel tables, staggering toward the nearest one on numb legs. There was a body, it looked male, but it had been skinned, the head removed (dumped in the burn bin?), three limbs gone and nothing remarkable in the one that was left. The next body was in the same state, already broken down into meat, he couldn’t tell who it might have been. It was big enough to be Daryl, or that big red-headed son of a bitch, but it could be Daryl, and the next body, a slimmer man, smaller, could that be Glenn? 

His heart was jerking in his chest like a rabbit in a snare. 

The fourth body, it was smaller, maybe a woman but the torso looked male to him, even all hacked up it looked more like a boy’s flat muscles and a boy’s skinny waist. 

He could hear a sound, a sort of awful moan, he turned back to the door, then to the small, bare body skinned and drained of its blood, back to the table, took another step toward it and could see Glenn’s pocket watch, the one that had started this mess, and two arrows, but there had been bodies hanging in chains, he turned to look (and the room turned with him), a woman, one was a woman, definitely, but who? Maggie? Would she have let Glenn go alone? Or was it Michonne? He couldn’t tell, they had been turned into just … meat, not his friends, and that sound was getting worse and he bit his sleeve to quiet it, turned helplessly back to the smallest body. To his boy.

His knees went out from underneath him, and he fell, cracking knees and one elbow on tiles streaked with the blood of his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to adapt some of the dialogue from "Terminus" from memory, so it might be kinda close, or it might be utterly scrambled.  
> TW for a bit of torture.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic violence

He was lying on the floor. The tiles were blue, spattered with blood. Carl was.      The tiles were blue. He was numb. His fingers clenched around the handle of the machete, rhythmically.       Carl.        There was blood on the tiles. His stomach clenched on nothing, heaved, but nothing came up. Carl was on that table.      He was staring at the blade of the machete. It looked strong and sharp. He’d been staring at it for a while.      He was so numb.

He could hear the gunfire in the distance, still, a clear pattern of small, controlled bursts that sounded more like a group of survivors clearing up a trapped herd of walkers than the panicked firing he’d heard earlier. Some of them must have survived the attack. The blade of the machete looked sharp. He looked up at the door that led back to the hallway. 

Rick was on his feet, suddenly, like a puppet yanked up by its strings, grip tightening on the machete. There was a flicker of white in the corner of his eye. In the hallway, he killed the last walker, the one he’d only hobbled before. 

It had slowly been dragging itself toward the gunfire, and he smashed in its head with his boot, rolled it over on its front, split it open from crotch to sternum and rolled himself in the mess like a dog rolling in dead squirrel, smeared it into his beard and over his hair. 

He crept outside covered in their gore and their stench, and went hunting.

Rick found a sort of courtyard. There were a dozen or so walkers stumbling through it. 

He walked with them, past an empty box car with a man’s mangled body next to it, mostly consumed, and another locked box car from which no sounds emerged, even when he pressed an ear to the sun-warmed metal. 

This didn’t look like the right place, or the right train car. It was just the cargo box, no wheels, and a pale tan instead of the dull orange he remembered. He didn’t know if there had been anyone inside. 

He kept walking. The smell of fire was sharp in the air.

Past a broken down car, Rick saw another body, a woman’s, and the walkers tearing at her, forming a little circle. 

There were more walkers a little ways down the alley, fixated on eating a half dozen corpses or more. Rick moved through them easily, his eyes catching the glint of a semi-automatic rifle. Then another. The first he picked up, a Smith and Wesson M&P 15, had a strap, and Rick slung that one over his shoulder; the other, an AR-15, he’d have to carry. 

He popped the clip out of the M&P – empty. The AR-15 had four rounds. He found a third rifle, and stole the clip out of it, another six rounds, and left the rifle with the walkers and the bodies. 

There was another woman, as well, and he took her little snub-nosed revolver, two bullets, and tucked it in his waistband. He’d known a guy on the force who kept his gun in his waistband, said he preferred it to a holster. Everyone had always joked that he’d blow his own balls off, but he never had. Rick wondered what had happened to that guy. 

There was more gunfire, and Rick circled back through the brick buildings, seeking a path through this maze. The first building he entered was divided up, full of offices and cubicles, a low, dingy gray drop ceiling indicating multiple floors. 

It looked like a rat’s nest. A death trap. 

It also looked completely picked clean. There was a dried up potted fern near the door, desks all rummaged through, the drawers pulled out and empty, a woman’s body on the floor in the middle of the small hallway created by the cubicles. Rick edged carefully past. The walkers gnawing at her didn’t even look up. 

Beyond the open doorway, he heard the pounding footsteps of men running in heavy boots, and he darted to the side and positioned himself behind the door. It sounded like three men approaching, and he gently rested the AR-15 against the wall, repositioning his grip on the machete. Two men kept running, toward what he didn’t know. 

The third stepped through the doorway, gun up and searching for a target; when he saw the walkers, and the body on the floor, his gun sagged downward, and Rick hacked at his neck. 

He must have seen Rick move, and was turning to face him when the machete caught him in the throat; blood splashed across Rick’s face; the man gurgled, fell. 

One of the walkers looked up, and Rick grabbed his rifle and the man’s matte-black Ruger and crept out the open door.

The other two men were just disappearing around the corner of the building; Rick darted a quick glance around the open space he found himself in, then followed, keeping low. He paused with his back pressed to the wall just at the corner, and glanced around it in one smooth motion. Their backs were to him, and he rounded the corner and shot them both, gathered up their extra ammo and a little yellow folding knife with wicked-looking serrations, and ran to the next door. The noise attracted a few straggling walkers, but they staggered right on by, toward the fresh bodies. 

Rick’s eyes followed them for a long moment. 

The next door opened into a large room that seemed relatively unused, just rows of tables and another door at the far side. Rick moved along one wall, quick but quiet, and ducked behind one of those tables just as two men and a woman came in through the far door, another three, they must patrol in threes, he figured, and there wasn’t really a lot of room to hide. He crouched, breathing as quietly as he could, and they went out the near door without seeing him. 

Rick tilted his head to the left, slowly, considering – and followed. 

Waiting just inside the door, new little knife in hand, he heard one of them curse, then running feet toward the bodies he’d left near the corner of the building, then gunfire. The woman came back inside, a walkie-talkie in her hand and Rick stabbed her in the neck with the little yellow knife. 

Her eyes were wide. 

The knife caught its serrations in the tendons of her throat, but came free with a hard yank and a gush of blood. 

She fell to her knees, and then crumpled to her side. 

He picked up her big automatic rifle, stepped outside, and used the nearly empty clip to shoot the other two in the legs, around knee-high, before ducking back inside. They hadn’t finished off the walkers eating their friends, and Rick closed the door on the sound of their screams. 

He left the woman’s empty rifle with her body.

There was another courtyard through the far door. Rick darted across it, took cover behind a beat up truck that looked functional. He checked for keys, moved on. The next building was a bunkhouse, of sorts, rows and clusters of mattresses, nests of blankets, neat little piles of belongings, mostly clothes, a mirror leaned up against a wall, candles stuck to the concrete floors in puddles of wax. A deck of cards; a flashlight, which he pocketed; a child’s doll; a few framed photographs – he glanced at a few of them as he crept past, normal pictures, family portraits, a kid playing in a green field, a little white house, a dog rolling in leaves.

There was a flicker of white in the corner of his eye. 

Rick looked around, but didn’t see anything. He tightened his grip on the rifle he carried in both hands, and stepped out into the welcome wagon.

A pall of smoke hovered over everything. The splattered blood, where that sniper had shot one of their own in the head, wasn’t quite dry, and shone oddly in the light that filtered through the smoke haze. 

Rick knew where the body had ended up. 

The boy’s blood ruined the image of refuge, turning the grills sinister and the boxes of flowers disquieting. Rick hadn’t realized how close they’d been to the front gate before; he could hear the roar of the flames. He went around an odd corner, passed a chain link fence, and a wave of heat slammed into his face and hands.

That explosion, earlier. Rick smiled, even as he backed away from the fierce heat. Whoever had attacked this place, they’d been smart to open a breach that let in walkers while trapping the living; smart as hell. 

The entrance didn’t matter to him, anyway. He wasn’t leaving. And he knew how to get to the box car from here.

********************

After a final burst of gunfire, everything went quiet, and Rick crept back toward the box car without seeing another living soul. 

The unliving, on the other hand, crowded the streets and alleys between the big brick buildings, and Rick moved through them without causing so much as a ripple in the eddies and streams of slow-moving walkers. Without the spurts of gunfire, all Rick could hear was the crackle of flames, and the constant moaning of the walkers. There was a ringing in his head. 

He found another body, and another couple of guns with ammo he could use, in the strange room marked up with symbols and lit with candles; the candelabras had been knocked over, photos and a teddy bear knocked out of place, a woman dead on the floor – he thought he recognized her. 

The woman had been shot, and mauled to death – her blood was smeared across some of the words in the strange circle; Rick took her gun, and left her there. She’d be turning soon.

It seemed like he got to the box car quickly after that. His steps came quicker and quicker, until he was panting. Someone could be there. Maggie, or Michonne, or maybe that big body had been the redheaded SOB and Daryl was still alive, maybe. He was moving too quickly. The heads of walkers lifted as he passed, though none had followed him yet. His heart was pounding in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t alone.

When he saw the box car, his heart seemed to stop.

He staggered to an abrupt halt in the open space where just a day ago men had herded his family into that stinking metal box. The train car was swarming with walkers. Dozens of them. The door had been forced open, and they were inside, and he could hear them in there, gnashing at something and moaning, and Rick took a step forward as a walker split itself open on the edge of the door trying to force itself inside, and another step, but the crowd of walkers was so thick that he couldn’t see a way through it. 

So he started shooting.

The heavy AR-15 shook in his hands, became warm, and he was walking forward, steadily, and they were dropping in horrible broken heaps, one, two, three of them, one with each shot, and there was a roaring in his head. Last shot and he dropped the AR-15 from numbed hands. The walkers turned to him, so slowly. He pulled the M&P on its strap around to brace the butt of it against his stomach and pressed the trigger. 

They fell, and fell, a half-dozen of them, and he let the rifle swing loose on its strap, and he pulled the little revolver from the waist of his jeans, shooting them neatly in the head, a steady pop, pop, pop as he approached the open door. 

More firing started up behind him, and Rick ducked into the herd, and turned his bullets on the Termites that had come to investigate all the noise. Another three man team. Bullets were whizzing past him, close enough he imagined he could hear their buzz. 

He dropped one of the men, clipped another in the arm. Walkers were dropping all around him. The revolver ran dry; he dropped it to the asphalt, pulled out his last gun, the black Ruger. He melted back into the herd, arms bringing up the Ruger in a perfect triangle stance, eye fixed on the small white dot of the gun’s sights where it lined up with the final man. 

A walker grabbed his left arm; he cursed, yanking his arm back as he shot it in the head, and ducked inside the train car. Bullets pinged off the metal, and he yanked a clip for the Ruger from his back pocket and slapped it in, dropping the four walkers left inside. 

There was a moment of almost peace. The last man was still firing at the walkers, tight, three-round bursts, like a professional; someone started screaming hoarsely, but the firing continued. 

The screaming stopped, abruptly, and Rick lowered himself to one knee by the open door of the train car, waiting. 

The firing continued for another minute, maybe, a long stretch of time, before going silent. 

Rick’s breaths were loud in the enclosed space of the train car. He could still hear the moaning of the walkers, though none had tried to climb into the car with him. Pressed against the hot metal of the train car just next to the open door, listening intently, he was about to duck his head out for a look when he saw a flicker of white out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look – and the butt of a rifle caught him in the forehead.

He saw fucking stars.

It was a bad strike, for the asshole that’d hit him, forehead instead of temple, but Rick still fell back into the car; one flailing arm caught on fabric, and he pulled, hard. 

The man came down on top of him, forcing all the breath out of Rick’s lungs in an instant. Rick clawed at the man’s hair, the back of his neck, anything he could reach, digging his fingers into the tendons on either side of the spine – the man was fumbling for his gun, which had fallen just above Rick’s head, and Rick shoved it further away, then, with his grip on the man’s neck, started smashing his fist into the side of the man’s head, his face, into his ear. The man was trying to pull back, to get his legs under him, kneed Rick in the fucking balls and Rick jackknifed, accidentally head-butting the asshole but it did the trick, the man fell off of him and rolled to the side, both hands cradling his broken nose.

Dead hands reached inside the train car; Rick scrambled backwards, but the hands weren’t reaching for him anyway. The man managed one panicked glance at him before he was dragged out of the train car, screaming.

The screams didn’t last long.


	4. Chapter 4

Rick lay there, aching. After what seemed like a long time, but also not enough time, he forced himself up, mostly onto his feet. The gore he’d covered himself in was drying, getting stiff; it sort of crackled as he moved, and bits flaked off. He gagged, a little, but didn’t throw up.

He’d bought himself a little time, and he used it to examine the train car. 

There were bodies like a carpet on the floor of the car; he’d put quite a few of them there himself, but he still took the time to check each one, check its face and make sure he hadn’t known it. It was slow going; some of the bodies had obviously been dead for a while, and were desiccated, light. Others were new, and fresh, and heavy, and Rick struggled to pull them off of other bodies, and then just to turn them over. His head throbbed. His vision was blurred. 

None of them. He didn’t recognize a single one.

He sat down abruptly. There was something like relief growing in his chest. They weren’t here. 

They hadn’t died here.

His hands found his hair, tugging at it lightly; he’d curled in on himself, and his elbows came to rest on his knees. He was smiling, kind of, but also on the edge of tears. 

They weren’t here.

They might not have died in the train car, but he also couldn’t think of a way to find them, not right then. And Carl.        And he was still alone. 

A little more time passed, he couldn’t have said how much. 

Thoughts developed slowly. 

He still had the M&P on its strap, even though the gun was empty. He might be able to find another clip, or another gun. He tried to pop the clip on the Ruger; the little black button was stiff, hard to push in, and he strained at it, bringing up the pad of his left thumb to press on the nail of his right. Finally the clip slid out, reluctantly. His hands were shaking. Three bullets.

He needed to find the others. 

He even wanted to find the others.

But first he needed to find Gareth.

There were still walkers wandering around outside the train car, and he rolled himself in a fresh body before jumping down past where the make-shift stairs had been. His knees popped and cracked, and he used the butt of the empty M&P like a crutch to steady himself, the metal clicking on asphalt. 

The smell of smoke had grown thicker, harsher. Rick coughed. A few heads lifted up from the body of the third man, and Rick froze, tried to hold his breath.

One moaned, low, and the wet sound of chewing grew louder. 

Rick allowed himself to breathe, and limped off toward the only building he hadn’t explored yet. 

It was a large, brooding brick warehouse, identical to the others except for a loading dock that faced toward the tracks and the road. Rick used the metal railing to pull himself up onto the gray concrete dock. A splash of color caught his eye – blood, dark and drying to a dull brown, but still bright against the dull gray of the dock. 

Rick crouched next to the puddle, dabbled a finger in the blood. It was still wet, and he rubbed his fingers together thoughtfully, cocked his head to one side. Drips and streaks of blood formed a trail that led into the building. He followed it.

The big steel roll-up service door had been pulled mostly shut; there was a gap at the bottom, less than a foot high, where the door hadn’t closed properly, and Rick grabbed the lower edge of the door and pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled at the door until the metal cut into his palms and blood throbbed at his temples, a sound coming out of his chest like a walker’s moan – and it creaked up an inch.

Rick stepped back, stumbled over his own feet, and fell, hard. Sprawled across the concrete dock, he stared up at the door, breathing harshly. There would be another way in.

The sky was a piercing blue; from beneath the shadow of the loading dock’s overhang, Rick stared into that blue until translucent white shapes began to form in the void – he squeezed his light-dazzled eyes shut, and the white shapes were replaced by black blotches that floated against the perfect, endless blue when he blinked.

Tension rattled through his shoulders. He filled his lungs, carefully, feeling out each sting and pull, breathed out a sigh. The smell of smoke wasn’t so bad in the lee of the building. Rolling onto his side, he pulled himself up using the rough, crumbling bricks, until he was standing. The rifle was heavy in his hands. 

There was a smaller steel door, unlocked, near the loading dock. It led into a small office that was separated from the rest of the warehouse by large plate glass windows – entirely broken – and another door, flimsy, hollow-core, but firmly locked. Rick came into the office in a low crouch, and, pressed against the bulk of an industrial-looking desk, peeked into the rest of the warehouse.

It was the radio room. He knew this room. 

They hadn’t seen the office before, or the loading docks. The room itself was empty now, the radio stations unmanned. There was a low buzz in the air, like one of the relays was live, broadcasting a steady white noise. 

Rick eased himself over the edge of the broken interior window, dropping heavily to the warehouse floor. The M&P rattled on the concrete slab, and he grabbed at it hastily. It seemed like the sound echoed in the big, mostly empty space, and Rick cringed.

After a long, tense moment, Rick decided no one was coming, and moved. 

He crept along the wall, behind the row of tables holding radio equipment. 

He could see out of his right eye, but he _felt_ like he couldn’t see out of his right eye, and he squeezed that eye shut a couple of times. 

It didn’t help. 

Paper from the Terminus scripts fluttered in a draft; he paused, holding onto the edge of the table for support, the big M&P propped against his uninjured thigh. 

It was just an open window – and as he relaxed, a man and a woman slammed through the far door.

He ducked down behind the table as they jogged past him, moving steady but fast, grim looks on both their faces. The woman had a big sniper rifle cradled in her arms. Rick’s knee gave a sharp twinge, and he lowered himself carefully to the concrete floor. He could hear them raise the gate, the chain rattling as they raised it halfway up; one of them said something, too quiet for Rick to hear, as they ducked underneath it. Team of two. Maybe there weren’t many left.

He should go after them. He shouldn’t leave an enemy behind him, not alive. Never again. 

Thrusting the pistol back into his makeshift holster, Rick finally abandoned the M&P, propping it gently against the wall and hoping he’d be able to come back for it. 

Rick was just pulling himself up when he saw a flicker of white in the corner of his eye. He turned, too fast, something popped in his knee, and he yanked the pistol out of his waistband to train it on—

Nothing. There was nothing there. 

He was panting, his heart hammering against his ribs, his face hot with adrenaline. Was he going crazy again? His head hurt, hot pain like a vise clamped onto his temples; he rubbed at his right temple, felt the veins rigid, hot, almost throbbing to the touch. He prodded at his temple, ran a careful finger across the alien texture. Veins shouldn’t feel like ropes beneath his skin. He bit his lip.

The gate slammed down, booming through the quiet warehouse; Rick ducked back just as the woman jogged past. Pain flared in his ribs, but he got the machete in his hand and crept out from behind the table. She had almost made it back to the far door when he caught up to her, tapped her on the shoulder, and sliced her throat in one smooth stroke when she turned around to give her partner hell. 

The blood fountained out of her. 

He hadn’t stepped back in time, and the hot blood spattered across his face, into his eyes, coated his chest in fresh gore. He stumbled back, gagging, blinded. 

Her body hit the concrete floor with a loud thump. Would someone hear it? Would someone come check it out? 

He couldn’t see. 

He was starting to panic. He didn’t dare wipe at his eyes with his hands, covered in walker’s blood, or with his shirt, soaked in gore. He couldn’t see.

Rick dropped to his knees by where he thought the woman had fallen, felt around until he found her body and scooted closer, patting at her clothes until he found pockets, checking each one, finding an open pack of gum or maybe mints, a small flashlight, a plastic bottle – he shook it, and there was some liquid inside, maybe a third full – a few rubber bands or hair things, a set of keys, a pocket knife, what might have been a compass or a watch, there, finally, there, something made of cloth. It felt soft, not stiff with dirt or blood; he fumbled around until he found the bottle again, got in unscrewed, with difficulty, and very carefully wet down the bit of cloth he’d found, and gently wiped it over his eyes. 

The blood was thick; he wiped at his eyes several times, poured more water on the cloth, started scrubbing at one eye socket before he’d calmed himself down. His vision returned slowly. He blinked, stickily, finally seeing the cloth he’d been using.

It was white, stained in yellow, with blue serge around the edges. There was a little bee embroidered in one corner; his finger pressed gently against the raised stitches; above it was an embroidered letter ‘B,’ in fancy cursive. Smears of his blood obscured the color of the stitches, but it was probably blue.

He couldn’t tell if the vomit stains were fresh. 

It was hard to breathe, suddenly. He dropped the cloth, stuffed the rest of her things in his pockets, and ran for the lowered gate. 

He had to go back through the office, nearly cut himself on the broken glass in the window in his hurry, but he got outside just as the woman’s partner got to the bottom of a ladder across the landing dock. 

Walkers milled about between them; at a flat run, Rick closed the distance, dodging between walkers that only seemed to notice him when he’d already passed them. He made it to the foot of the ladder when the man was only halfway up. He didn’t seem to have heard Rick’s quicker footsteps, but when Rick started up the ladder after him, the man paused, turned, and Rick saw his eyes get really big. 

Rick swarmed up the ladder; the man went up another rung, tried to get his gun around; Rick had his ankle, tried to pull him off; the man kicked his hand off, and Rick lost his balance, having to cling to the ladder for a moment; the man climbed up several more rungs, and Rick struggled to stay on his heels; the man got his gun around this time, and fired. 

Rick swung to one side, holding on with just his right hand now. Bullets zinged on the ladder rungs or rushed past him like a swarm of bees. The man climbed up another few rungs, and he was climbing up onto the building. Rick got up behind him and grabbed at his pants leg, getting a good handful of fabric just behind his knee, and _pulled_. The man had ahold of something; he didn’t budge, and the barrel of his gun appeared over the edge of the building. He was firing blind; Rick ducked, had to let go of the pants leg. 

In a blast of light and pain, the world went white.

When it came back, Rick was clinging to the ladder. 

His head ached. 

He let go of the rung just before his eyes; his hand didn’t want to let go, cramping around the cold metal. Gently, he touched the worst of the pain, at his right temple. His fingers came away wet with blood. 

Rick got his elbow locked around the left rail, and pulled the little revolver. And he waited.

When the man popped his head over the edge to see if Rick was still alive, Rick shot him.

The top of the man’s head blew off in a spray of gore; some of it rained down on Rick, and Rick clung to the ladder until he was sure the body wouldn’t fall down on him, too. 

He looked down. A small crowd had gathered at the foot of the ladder, gnashing at the rain of blood. After a time, the blood slowed to a patter. Rick’s arm ached where it held him against the ladder rung. The walkers milled at the foot of the ladder, and Rick wasn’t sure his coat of gore would hold up to that level of interest.

He carefully shoved the gun back into the waistband of his jeans, and climbed the few rungs to the top of the ladder. The last rung was slick with blood, and he held onto the rails instead. 

The man’s head – what was left of it – had come to rest just against the metal drip edge of the roof’s gutters. Blood had filled the gutter beneath it, in a sort of clump, mostly held together by a two-inch high layer of leaf debris. Rick grimaced, and freed one hand to poke at the corpse. It didn’t budge. He tried pushing it, getting one hand on the shoulder of the body and heaving as hard as he dared. It still didn’t budge. He looked down. His fans were still down there. Rick sighed. 

Getting a firm hold on the man’s shirt, Rick pulled himself up and over the body, kicking off the last rung and scrambling across the body to the blessedly flat roof. He rolled flat onto his back on the hot tar, panting. Blood ran down the side of his head.

He could still hear the walkers below, moaning. No one had come to check out those last shots, not yet at least. 

Maybe they were running out of people, he chuckled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further violence, though nothing more graphic than on the show.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gains his vengeance.

Rick came to lying across a man’s body.

His face was pressed against a denim-clad calf, and one hand was pressed against the hot tar of the roof. He jerked back, and up, trying to get a knee under him and scrambling for a moment. He finally got himself upright, and scooted back against the edge of the roof.

He’d fallen? Or hit his head? Or someone had hit him? 

His head hurt, and he was panting slightly, partly from panic but partly because he was so damned thirsty. 

That’s what he’d been doing. He’d leaned over to check that asshole for supplies, and.

Blacked out?

Moving gingerly, he scooted himself closer to the body, heaved it over, and carefully ran his hands across the man’s pockets, working down the front of his vest, then to his cargo pants. He didn’t find much – a pair of nail clippers, a little plastic baggie with a melted bit of soap inside, a slightly crumpled Payday, three pairs of nonmatching socks – and there, in the left side pocket of the man’s cargo pants, a bottle of water, mostly full.

Rick found a little bit of shade next to a smoke stack, and guzzled down the water, and ate the stale candy bar in three big bites, and then lay there, finally feeling steady.

Feeling calmer, Rick took stock of his situation. He’d fainted, it was clear now, which didn’t say much for his physical condition. On the plus side, not much time had passed – smoke had darkened the sky, made it harder to breathe, but the sun was in roughly the same place, and Rick knew that even with a shortage of people, someone would come out here to check on all those shots eventually. Maybe Gareth himself. So it hadn’t been long at all.

He let a little time pass. It was quiet, just the crackling of flames in the distance and the moans of the walkers at the foot of the ladder. 

Part of him wanted to leave, and try to find the others. He was tired. But Carl.       But most of him wanted revenge.

Levering himself back up to his feet, Rick moved gingerly back over to the top of the ladder, and peered over the edge. 

The faces of two dozen walkers peered hungrily back up at him. 

He stepped back from the ladder, shuddered. That was probably not going to work, and his fresh coat of gore was again drying rapidly in the sun. 

Checking the man’s body again, Rick found a couple of glow sticks, and a full 30-round mag of ammo for the battered little P90 he found caught beneath the man’s body. The strap had tangled, and he’d managed to pull the body over on top of the submachine gun. Rick pulled at the gun, pulled again, tried pushing the body over, but the legs were sort of tangled now and not rolling easily, and finally cut the strap and yanked the gun free. 

He was panting again, and his ribs felt like a fine china plate that had been knocked over during a game of tag and then super glued back together by an anxious seven-year-old. 

For a moment he could remember Carl’s worried little frown, his desperate pleas to hide the plate from Lori, and Rick smiled. He’d reassured Carl, and thrown the plate to the kitchen floor, taking the blame on himself. Carl confessed later that night, wracked with seven-year-old guilt, and Lori cradled his little face in her hands, and kissed his forehead, and Rick drove them to the ice cream shop as a reward for Carl’s honesty. 

He put a hand to his ribs, grimaced. He needed to end this, and soon.

He circled the edge of the roof looking for another way down. There wasn’t another ladder, but at the far end he found a little overhang, just a rectangular patch, one of those flat bits they put over doors to keep the rain off. It was a little more than halfway down the side of the building, with another drop to the ground. He chewed on his lip a little, looking at it. But really, it seemed like his best bet.

The guns went first, lowered down carefully only to finally land with a clatter on the asphalt shingles. Then Rick crawled over the edge, scooting his legs first, then using his arms to ease his hips over the edge, finally resting on his elbows. He knew the next step was going to hurt, and was hesitating. Working as slowly as he could, he very gingerly lowered himself until he was hanging by his fingertips, and then dropped.

He hit hard, and rolled into the brick wall – which was better than rolling off the edge of the overhang, but still hurt like hell. His breath all wheezed out of him, and when he could think again he found both arms wrapped around his middle, like a brace. 

For the next drop, he tied a knot in the P90's strap and slung it over one shoulder, tucked the little revolver back into his belt, checked his knives, all before he ever looked over the edge. He was on high alert, heart pounding – but there was nothing there waiting for him, and it was easier to get himself over the edge this time. The drop was painful, but he was standing at the end of it, and, taking a moment to collect himself, he set off to find his way to the other side of the radio room.

The next building over had caught fire – it was spreading. He didn’t really know enough about fires to know if this could be considered a rapid spread, if it would keep burning, if it would burn this hellhole to the ground. He hoped it would.

He circled back, trying for the other side of the building. The walkers at the foot of the ladder didn’t seem to notice him as he walked, steady, back across the loading dock, and around past the box car. 

There wasn’t another building on the other side, just a fence, chain link, not too overgrown, and rows and rows of train tracks on the other side of it, the train yard, he guessed it was called, and on this side the blind wall of the warehouse. It seemed darker. Rick straightened up from his crouch and stretched his legs, arching his back and twisting it left, then right, to get the crick out. The sun hadn’t budged much, but the smell of smoke was getting stronger, and he supposed it must be blocking out the light. It didn’t look particularly dark when he looked up at the sky, still an aching, endless blue – but obscured, as if he was looking at it through a pair of smudged sunglasses. 

When he’d rounded the corner of the building, he could see the other side of the warehouse that held the radio room, and the building that lay beyond it – a lower, stone building with a peaked roof and windows that were more like normal house windows, not the dozens and dozens of glass squares that made up the warehouse windows. It might have been a little post office, or the train yard HQ, Rick wasn’t sure, but it looked to be the last place left to search.

All at once the smoke fell out of the sky like a curtain. Suddenly he couldn’t see more than a few feet, everything was dark and blurred by the smoke, and he started coughing, deep and rough, and loud. The answering moans of dozens of walkers got him moving forward again, his lungs tearing at his chest. Another warehouse must have caught fire, and it was spreading rapidly. He might only have minutes left. He’d meant to sneak in, maybe get up onto the roof and come in through a window, but in the end, with the smoke, and the approaching walkers, and his own rebelling lungs, he forced open the nearest door with his shoulder, stumbled inside, and slammed it behind him. 

He leaned against the door, drawing in great draughts of the clearer indoor air, chest heaving. 

Moments later bodies began to thump against the door, the vibrations shaking at the foundations of his spine. Bracing with one shoulder, he twisted around, got the door latched. They would be through it in minutes. Still panting for breath, he continued into the building.

It was something like the guts of a church, something like a weird office building – a long, carpeted hallway in soft pastel colors, lined with doors on either side. The torn remnants of cheerfully-colored construction paper art marked each doorway, and a couple of the doors were the kind that split in two – Dutch doors. Maybe it had been an on-site daycare, Rick thought. His footfalls were soft on the worn carpet, and he hurried to the end of the hallway, opening doors as he went, finally pushing through the big double doors at the end. There was an old soda machine next to the doors, and he got it over onto its side, blocking off the exit – and any walkers that got in. 

He was in a banquet hall of some kind, old metal chairs and plastic tables. There was a stage at one end, empty, the old velvet curtain partly ripped down. Everything was thick with dust, except the tables, which were strangely clean. Maybe the damned cannibals had been using it as a dining hall. The high, narrow windows were dark from the smoke, and the air in the room seemed thick and close in spite of the high ceilings. There were three doors, two at the far end on either side of the stage, and one almost directly across from him. 

That door seemed to lead outside, and when he got closer Rick could make out a few streaks and splatters of blood trailing from that door toward the door to the left of the stage. So he followed it.

The next hallway didn’t have a single door off of it, and it was plastered so thickly, built up to form a curved ceiling, that it was like walking inside of a cake. The plaster had been whitewashed, badly, and drips had formed all along one edge. There was light coming from somewhere up ahead, and the white walls and curved ceiling bounced that light all around the tunnel, so that Rick could clearly see the trail of blood, drying now, in hand prints and smears all down the left wall. 

Rick felt apprehension creep over him. 

There was something wrong, like a gap in the world. 

The blood dried and trailed off, and there was just the one door ahead of him, metal with a narrow window. The light coming through was so intense in contrast to all the darkness that he couldn’t make out anything on the other side. He bit his lower lip, gnawed at it a little in contemplation. It was like he was missing his shadow. Daryl. Daryl should be at his back.

He tried the door’s handle, jiggled it impatiently, threw his shoulder into the door and all his breath rushed out of him in a huff. The shock went right through his ribs, but the door opened, and, feeling very alone, he stepped through.

The room he’d entered was an office. Lined with bookshelves – not classy wooden bookshelves, but rickety metal ones, stuffed with paperbacks and folders and stacks of loose papers, and the room was filled with cheap furniture in metal and plastic, and a big cheap-looking desk, and in the middle of it lay Gareth.

He was sprawled on his back across the floor, like he’d tried to get to the spindly office chair and had fallen. Blood covered his shoulder, and pooled beneath him. Rick took a step closer, and Gareth’s head turned, just a little. He was still alive.

Rick looked around cautiously. It seemed odd that Gareth would be alone. But Rick had killed … a lot of his people. Still, he closed the door behind him, and pulled one of the big metal shelves in front of it. He wanted to be able to take his time.

Gareth’s lips were moving when Rick knelt beside him. He leaned in closer, and Gareth, in a bare whisper, asked, “My people?”

Rick felt a smile stretch his face. It felt like a slow-opening wound. “No.”

Gareth’s eyes closed. “Please,” he murmured. “Please, I want to live.”

Rage boiled up his chest, heating his face. “Did Carl beg?” he growled. And it was a growl, almost not a human voice at all, and he reached for the butcher’s knife he’d tucked into his belt. “You don’t get to live, not after what you’ve done.” 

The haze over his thoughts had cleared briefly, in the white clarity of the tunnel, but it descended now, red and thick, and almost standing outside of himself, watching himself bring the butcher’s knife down on Gareth’s arm, just beneath the bullet wound. Gareth shrieked, and Rick lifted up the butcher’s knife and brought it down again. It struck the meat of Gareth’s arm with a wet smack, and stuck in the bone. Rick wrenched it out, and brought it down again, and again, until Gareth’s arm came free. 

Gareth was sobbing now, and Rick heard each sob go through him like a knife, but it was also the strangest sort of pleasure, knowing he was taking apart the man who had taken apart         his son.      Carl.          He leaned over Gareth, and started hacking at his left arm. Blood flew up into his face, spattered across his chest and in his hair, flew up off the knife to spray across the stuffed-full bookcases and rickety chairs. 

Gareth wasn’t making a lot of noise anymore, so it was just the wet smack of knife into flesh ringing in Rick’s ears, the occasional low moan, and the second arm came free, and Rick moved like a machine, like a relentless machine to Gareth’s right leg, and Gareth managed a small, strangled scream at the first blow. 

But then Rick hit Gareth’s femoral artery, and blood fountained up like a geyser, and Rick worked faster, trying to get through the big bone of the thigh, but somewhere in there Gareth bled out.

Rick didn’t notice. He kept going, kept hacking at bone until first one leg came loose, then the other, and Gareth was left just a torso, just a piece of meat, just like Rick’s son.

When it was over, Rick fell back against the shelf he’d propped against the door, panting harshly. 

He coughed. The smoke was getting closer.

Gareth’s torso lay in a mess of blood and gore. After a time, that head would move again, and those eyes would pop open, and that mouth would gnash uselessly at air and never be satisfied. 

Something dark inside Rick was downright gleeful at that thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick finally learns the truth.

The fire had spread, and Rick barely made it out before the office building caught and burned. 

The walkers milled around in the billowing black smoke, and Rick avoided them easily as small groups of them caught fire, flailed a bit, spread the fire to others, and to other buildings, and began to wander out of the train yard toward the dry brush and trees at the edges of Terminus. 

They might start a forest fire, or it might rain. Either way, there was nothing Rick could do about it.

Still covered in a drying coat of walker gore, he started toward the meeting place he’d arranged with Daryl and the others. Maybe someone had gotten out in all the chaos. 

And a part of him didn’t know what else to do.

The heat and smoke cut him off from the main entrance, so he pulled himself over the fence, landing hard on the other side. The landing jarred his ribs, and he limped away from the fence into the tree line. 

Terminus burned behind him.

His boots slipping on the deep pine litter beneath the trees, Rick worked his way up and around to their meeting place. 

He was moving slowly. All the aches and pains he’d been able to ignore while … that he’d been able to ignore before had roared to life, and he was limping again, arm clamped tight to his side to support his ribs. With each breath it felt like they were tearing apart, like there was something fibrous connecting each rib that was tearing apart with each step. 

He didn’t know why he kept going, but he staggered through the trees until he saw the spot where he’d buried a bag of guns.

It was more of an empty hole, now.

He limped slowly into the clearing where the bag of guns had been, and stopped by the empty hole. His knees gave out, abruptly, and he found himself sitting in dust and pine needles, a sound like laughter tearing out of his aching chest. 

They were gone. 

The guns were gone.

The guns were gone, and his people were gone, if they’d ever been here.

They were alive.

He really was alone.

There was a flicker of white out of the corner of his eye, and he snapped his head to the right, softly said, “Lori?”

—and a crossbow bolt whizzed through the space where his head had been, so close the plastic feathers scored a thin line across his cheek.

He fell back onto his elbows in shock. “Rick!” someone shouted, and his head suddenly felt like a great weight at the top of his neck, and he turned it slowly, so slowly, toward the sound. There was a figure running toward him, and he squinted at it through vision blurred by exhaustion and grief as it seemed to become two figures.

“Daryl?” he rasped. And fell into blackness.

* * *

He wakes to darkness, to the smell of fire, and burning flesh.

With a great gasp he’s up, wrenching himself into a defensive crouch, hands searching for weapons that should have been within reach. 

“Woah, there,” a voice said, and Rick flinched away, hard, fingers coming up with a rock that he aimed at –

“Daryl?” he gasped, the rock falling out of fingers gone suddenly lax. 

Then a warm hand touched his shoulder in a familiar clasp, and Daryl moved to tend to the fire.

It was just a cook fire, and the burning flesh was just a squirrel, roasting away over the flames.

Rick’s stomach twisted uneasily, but his racing heart calmed at the familiar sight, and he lowered himself back onto the blanket that had been cushioning him from the ground. 

He felt strangely safe. Examining his situation a little more closely, Rick realized he was clean, or, at least, cleaner, and in a small clearing that didn’t look familiar. His gore-soaked coat was missing, and there was a makeshift bandage at his temple, where a gunshot had grazed him, and he was completely alone with Daryl.

“What happened?” he asked slowly, though part of him didn’t want to know the answer. “Did anyone else …?”

Daryl looked up from the squirrel he’d been prodding, and he nodded, saying, far too casually, “Everybody got out. We was just worried about you.”

Sudden, painful hope dawned. “Carl?” 

“Yeah, he’s been takin’ good care of Judith—”

“Judith?” Rick choked out, starting back upright.

“Hey, woah, not so fast.” Daryl’s hands both came up in a calming gesture. “I guess I should start over. Carol got us out.”

“Carol?” Rick murmured, feeling lost now. He sank back down onto his elbows, head pounding.

“Yeah,” and Daryl smiled fondly. It was just the barest twist of his lips, but Rick knew that expression well. Daryl had worn it whenever he looked at Judith, and sometimes when he’d looked at Rick. “She caused that explosion, and we all got loose and fought back to the boxcar, and over the fence.”

“Everyone?” Rick asked, barely daring to believe. “But I found bodies…”

Daryl’s mouth twisted into a disgusted slant. “They had two, three other boxcars full of people. No way of knowing how many.”

“I thought…” Rick couldn’t say it aloud. Part of him could barely remember thinking it. “What then, where is everyone?”

“Carol found a shack, and Tyreese was there with Judith.” The squirrel seemed to be ready – Daryl pulled it off the stick he’d been using as a skewer, and started picking at the meat with roughened fingertips. “Didn’t look safe, so they’s working on it while I track you down.”

“We need to get back there,” Rick said urgently, pushing himself up onto one elbow. The world seemed to swirl around him, and he fell back even before Daryl’s hand pressed down on his shoulder. 

“Soon as it’s light, we’ll go,” Daryl said, and it sounded like a promise. 

Rick allowed himself to be settled back on the blanket, and fed bits of squirrel, and sips of water from Daryl’s canteen, until he felt almost human. 

Daryl stayed next to him, instead of going back to the other side of the fire, and his body was a solid warmth against the dark. He stayed silent while Rick ate, and then for a while after Rick had let himself curl up on the blanket, aching head cradled on one arm. Rick thought he might be falling asleep when Daryl asked, “What happened in there?”

Rick kept staring at the little cook fire, eyes drawn to a single flame tonguing up between charred branches. He didn’t realize he was going to answer, but he heard himself saying, “I took care of it.”

Daryl nodded; Rick didn’t look over, saw Daryl’s head bob out of the corner of his eye, but Daryl didn’t say anything. “After what they did,” Rick murmured, trying to explain. His voice was rough, and Daryl passed him the canteen again. He took it, but didn’t drink. Staring at the fire, he growled, “They didn’t get to live.”

He felt Daryl’s hand on his shoulder, a steady, warm pressure; he stared at the little flame until it flickered, and died, and then he stared at the coals, watching the red fire trace squirming sigils across the gray shapes that used to be branches. Hands gently lifted the canteen out of his, and covered him with a second blanket, and then he slept.

* * *

Rick was dreaming.

He was back in that little office, surrounded by rows and rows of cheap metal shelving like a forest. At the edges of the room, he could see a figure in white – at every edge, mind, the same figure in white, and the shelves, stuffed overfull with ragged stacks of paper, seemed to go on forever. Gareth’s limbs were strewn about the floor, and Rick-in-the-dream was staring at Gareth’s rough-hewn torso, the growing pool of blood beneath it, the big square butcher’s knife still in his hand.

The figure in white was suddenly closer. Rick was staring down at Gareth’s still, blood-spattered face; in his peripheral vision, the figure flickered, and was closer still. The pool of blood beneath Gareth was growing.

“Lori?” he whispered. 

The figure in white was watching him. He could feel it. The pool of blood, still growing, was ankle deep now. 

Her hand touched his shoulder. He tilted his head to the side, resting his cheek against her wrist. The blood was waist high now, but he wasn’t worried. Gareth’s torso and limbs were floating in the blood, bobbing, and the blood came up to his breastbone now, and the hand on his shoulder tightened, and shook him slightly, and he could hear a voice saying, “Rick,” and the blood was up to his neck, and he lifted his chin to stay above it, and he was still staring at Gareth’s still face, and the hand on his shoulder shook him again, harder this time, as Gareth’s eyes blinked open, glazed in white, and that mouth began to open and he was drowning in the blood now, he couldn’t breathe, the hand was shaking him harder now as Gareth loomed closer—

“Rick!” the voice yelled.

He woke, gasping.

Daryl was kneeling beside him. 

Daryl’s hand was on his shoulder, warm and firm. Rick grabbed at Daryl’s forearm, clinging to it as he got his breath back. He was shaking, and Daryl looked concerned.

“Hey, are you okay?” Daryl asked.

Rick nodded, but he couldn’t speak, not yet. Daryl’s arm was solid beneath his hand, and he focused on that.

It was still dark, but the sky to the east was a lighter shade of gray, and the fire had burned itself out. Hours had passed. Rick cast about the clearing, looking at everything but Daryl.

Daryl didn’t say anything else, just kept that hand on him, steady, and turned his head just enough to keep watch over them both. 

They stayed like that until it was just light enough to see by.

Eventually, Rick loosened his grip on Daryl’s arm. The corded muscles beneath his fingers flexed with cramp, and Rick patted Daryl’s arm, once, in a silent apology, before finally letting go. 

Daryl patted Rick’s shoulder, as if in response, then pushed down, hard, as Daryl used the prop to leverage himself back to his feet. 

Rick groaned, quietly, at the weight. The place on his shoulder where Daryl’s hand had been felt chilled. Daryl just laughed at him, in his way, a single chuff that barely disturbed the dawn air. Rick squinted his eyes at Daryl in retaliation, and for a second, felt normal.

“We should go,” Rick said, breaking the still, early feeling.

“After you eat something,” Daryl said, nodding.

Rick felt his temper wake, and stretch, but he tamped it back down. Tried to smile. From Daryl’s expression, didn’t succeed.

After Rick had forced down a few bites of leftover squirrel, warm from Daryl’s pocket and weirdly greasy, Daryl packed up their little camp. He cut a hole in one of the blankets to serve as a makeshift poncho, got Rick on his feet and into the blanket-poncho, settled Rick’s Colt Python in its holster in a rough move that jostled Rick’s ribs, and they set off.

They walked for a while. They were walking through the heavy woods surrounding Terminus, but beyond that, Rick didn’t know. 

The walk for him passed in a haze of pain as all his wounds came awake with the movement, head and ribs and right knee. He walked slowly, huddled in the warm blanket; he was trailing behind Daryl, who was walking slowly himself so as to make less noise. 

Rick kept his eyes on Daryl’s back. As time passed, he seemed to get further away. Rick focused on his back more intently. His head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. 

At one point Daryl paused, brought his crossbow up to his shoulder, and fired. Rick tried to follow the path of the crossbow bolt with his eyes, and the world seemed to whirl around him. He staggered to the side, caught himself on the trunk of a tree. The rough bark bit at his fingertips where he was holding on. He couldn’t see Daryl.

He braced one arm against the ache in his ribs, and pushed himself away from the tree trunk. Just then, Daryl stepped back into view, a dead bird in one hand. It was a large-ish bird, with brown feathers, sort of shaped like a pear. Rick stared at it for a long moment, before lifting his eyes up to Daryl’s face. 

Daryl was staring at him. He looked concerned. Rick took a step forward, then another. It was going well.

He didn’t remember much of the rest of the trip. He remembered walking. He remembered watching Daryl’s back, a bobbing target, dusty black leather and the ratty, dun-white wings. 

After a while he forgot why he was following Daryl, only that he needed to. He could hear his breath rasping inside his chest. His boots slipped on the thick carpet of pine needles with every step, until he felt like he was walking backwards. Sometime after that he forgot that he was following Daryl at all. Everything in his world narrowed down to that pair of dusty white wings, and pain.

When Daryl finally stopped, Rick plowed straight into his back, and fell on his ass.

“Dad?” a voice yelled, and Rick tried to get up, but a small-framed figure plowed into him, arms twining around his head and neck in a tight hug that pressed his face into Carl’s belly.

“Carl?” he murmured, hands coming up slowly to touch his son. Some part of him cracked open, and he began to really believe. He got his arms around Carl, and hung on tight, as everything seemed to speed up around him.

Carl had turned slightly in his hold, and was reaching out, and suddenly Tyreese was holding Judith out to him, his little Judith, and he had her in his arms, and they were surrounded by people, his people, and Rick couldn’t look up from Judy’s little face, and Carol was there, eyes full of tears, and he was hugging her as tight as he could with one arm, and murmuring “Thank you, thank you” into her ear, pressing little Judy between them, and he was smiling so wide it hurt and it seemed like everyone was laughing and talking at once, hands patting at his back and touching his arms, Michonne pressing the flat of her hand against his cheek, Glenn’s strong hands grasping his, and Maggie pressed in to kiss his forehead, and they were all there, and Sasha standing tall by her brother and Bob, all of his people were safe, and Daryl was a solid presence behind him, and Carl stayed right by his side, and all at once Rick let himself relax.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited with the others, Rick gains a brief reprieve as they head toward safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we catch up with the show, I will be using and adapting dialogue, and following (more or less) the timeline of the next few episodes. And as we get more dialog, look, I just can’t bring myself to type out accents, it’s not one of my skills.

“…he’s fucking injured, you can’t up and leave!” Daryl shouted.

Rick didn’t think he’d been out for very long, this time, but he came back to awareness in the midst of shouting that seemed very different from the laughter he’d left. His eyes didn’t quite want to open; he blinked them stubbornly, saw Daryl take shape standing tall above him. Someone had taken Judy from his arms; he turned his head slightly, saw her securely held by Carl, and turned his attention back to the brewing argument.

“We can’t stay out here,” the big redhead was growling, squaring up on Daryl like his height could win the argument for him. But Daryl wasn’t backing down, pacing a little back and forth like he did whenever he felt violence might be needed. 

Rick tried to force himself up. It was like his limbs didn’t want to work, and he just sort of flailed a bit, clipping Carl on the shoulder. Carl didn’t look down at him, focused on the danger. Part of Rick was proud; a small, mean part was annoyed at being ignored.

“We are going to DC,” Abraham said forcefully.

“Look, we just need to get off the road for now,” Glenn said, shoving his smaller body between them, and Rick knew he was right, and hated being the one keeping them here. He tried to force himself up again. He lifted his head – and lost track of things for a bit.

“I know a place,” a voice said, and he managed to get his eyes open enough to see Carol. She had stepped forward, not between the two men like Glenn, but into the circle being formed by each side of the argument. She looked sure, and Michonne was steady at her back, and Glenn was nodding along with her.

Rick tried to get up, grabbed at Carl’s arm and pulled himself up onto one elbow. It seemed like the world was spinning, very, very slowly, and he was at the center of it.

He couldn’t hear them, or he was hearing something but it wasn’t making sense, but Abraham was nodding, and Daryl looked less furious. Carl finally turned to him, touched the back of his hand where it still clutched at Carl’s sleeve.

Carl was saying something, or at least his lips were moving, and then Tyreese grabbed at Rick’s arms and lifted him up onto his feet, holding him there until he seemed steady. Rick watched everyone mill around him, settling into their packs, gathering up blankets and guns. He was swaying slightly, and Carl was steadying him by bracing his whole body all along Rick’s side. 

“It’s gonna be okay, dad,” Carl was saying, and then Tyreese had him by the other arm, and Rick leaned into Tyreese’s strong, steady frame, and they were walking.

“You okay, man?” Tyreese spoke quietly into Rick’s ear.

“Yeah,” Rick said, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. “I think I’m okay.” 

But his voice sounded wrong, and Tyreese got one big arm around Rick’s shoulders, taking a little more of his weight.

Some amount of time passed, Rick wasn’t sure how much. 

They kept walking, Tyreese partly carrying him at times and at other times just keeping him from wandering away from the others. Rick could feel that something was wrong, and sometimes knew that something was wrong, but he also had moments where he forgot why Tyreese was holding onto him and he tried to pull away. Carl was walking close by on his other side, carrying Judith, and he would touch Rick’s arm and convince him to let Tyreese keep helping him, and Rick would, confused, but willing to go along with it.

They walked through the pine woods, then along an asphalt road for a time. They stopped by a creek, and Rick sat in the shade of a tree and drank slowly from the bottle of water Carl brought to him. His head was clearing, slowly, and he started to take notice of what was going on around him.

Daryl was cooking the brown-feathered bird he’d been carrying in his bag over a small, smokeless fire. Sasha was just returning with water, Bob next to her, both smiling and flirting. Tyreese had Judith near the fire; he was jouncing her gently on one knee while he ate, one bite for him, one nibble for her. Carl sat next to them, laughing at the faces Judith made at every bite. Rick felt a pang, watching. 

The roasting meat started to smell delicious, and then started to smell like Terminus. Torn between his watering mouth and cringing stomach, Rick accepted the shred of meat Daryl handed him and forced it down. 

That girl from the prison, Tara, was sitting near Glenn and Maggie, with them but also looking like she was by herself. Abraham was standing watch, the woman and the guy with the mullet keeping close to him. They wanted to go to DC, Rick remembered. That might be trouble.

Carol knelt down beside him and put a gentle hand on his forehead; he quirked a smile at her, just a twitch, and she watched him, wary. 

“Feeling better?” she asked, sounding hesitant.

“I think so, yeah.” His voice was a bit raspy, he thought probably from the smoke.

She moved like she was about to get up, and he grabbed her wrist, carefully tugging her back down. “Hey,” he said, “thank you, for all this.” She wouldn’t look at him, and he pressed on, “I owe you everything.”

She shook her head. “You owe Tyreese. He was at the prison.”

“I do,” he said, looking over to where Tyreese was sitting. “I owe him a lot. But I … You got them out of Terminus.” He couldn’t speak for a moment, forced himself to continue. “I thought they were dead, Carol. And I …”

“Hey, hey,” she shushed him. “They’re okay. We’re all okay.”

“I know,” he managed. “Thanks to you.” He was shaking a little. “At the prison …” he shook his head. “I can’t judge you for that. And I set you away to this—”

“You said I could survive.” She placed her left hand gently on top of his, where it was still clutching her right wrist. “And you were right.”

Rick shook his head again, plowing ahead. “I sent you away … and now we’re joining you.” She was looking down, and he ducked his head, trying to get her to meet his eyes. “Will you have us?”

She nodded, and managed a teary-eyed smile; Rick pulled her down into a long hug, hooking his chin over her shoulder and pressing her close to him. Tears slipped from her eyes, even though they were squeezed shut, and he knew they would be okay.

She patted his cheek one last time, and went over to join Daryl by the fire. It seemed like everyone wanted to check in with him – Michonne sat down beside him next, cross legged, eating her share of the bird with no obvious attention paid to Rick, but clearly keeping an eye on him. He watched her profile for a few long moments, waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he nudged her shoulder with his, surprising a smile out of her. 

Then Glenn dropped by, nodding to Michonne before asking Rick if he was good to go. Rick tilted his head, not sure himself.

“Listen, what Abraham was saying,” Glenn said quietly. “About having a cure…”

“You want to go to Washington with him?” Rick asked. Michonne stiffened slightly next to him; if their shoulders weren’t still pressed together, he might not have noticed.

Glenn hesitated, but eventually nodded. “I think we should all go, man. I think we really have a shot of finding something.”

For a moment Rick couldn’t understand why Glenn would ask for permission, why anyone would look to him, not after what he’d done. He couldn’t lead these people.

But Glenn was still looking at him, watching him so carefully, the hope so big in his eyes Rick felt suffocated by it. “Let me think on it, okay?”

Even that seemed to be a relief: Glenn smiled, clapped Rick on the shoulder with an odd gentleness, and went back to where Maggie and Sasha were laughing at one of Bob’s jokes. They looked happy, the two couples. 

“Hey,” Michonne said, noticing the sudden pang that went through him. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah?” he asked, oddly pleased to hear his own words turned back at him. “How do you know?”

She smiled as she finished, “Because I’m okay,” and laid her head carefully on his shoulder.

He let his head tilt over to rest against the top of her head, feeling her hair tickling at his ear. She was warm against him, and he looked around at his family, and felt safe.

The feeling didn’t last long.

They had to get moving. The rest and food had restored Rick to something close to human, but he really needed days of rest and more attention to his wounds before he would be fully recovered. Daryl had cleaned the gore off him, best he could manage, but Rick’s jeans were still stiff with dried blood, and he knew he stank to high heaven, though he couldn’t smell himself anymore. 

Rick was feeling steadier, so Tyreese took over carrying Judith from Carl, and with Carol leading the way they left the forest for a two-lane highway running north.

Michonne took point with Carol, and Rick tried not to be too much of a burden anymore as Daryl vanished into the woods and Abraham took the rear. Everyone was on high alert, and Rick kept his head up and his hand on the hilt of his Colt Python; if he had the other hand pressed against his ribs, no one could see beneath his blanket poncho.

After a few hours of walking, they made it back to the train tracks that had started all this; Carol led them past the signs promising safety, and a few walker corpses that spoke to the danger she’d been in, and gotten his daughter past. Each torn and crushed body was like a blow, but just as Rick began to falter, Carol led them off the tracks and back into the woods.

There were fewer pine trees here, and the dried leaves beneath their feet crunched and rattled with every step, marking their passage through the forest as good as a siren. Rick flinched at the worst of the noise, and he could see some of them trying to walk softly, Glenn up on his tiptoes, Tyreese moving gingerly around the worst crackling piles. Rick himself wasn’t doing too badly; Daryl had taught him a thing or two, and Carl was following his lead, stepping carefully. Tara blundered straight through big piles of leaves, looking utterly chagrined every damn time. City girl, through and through. Sasha had her sniper rifle off her shoulder, trying to peer through the trees.

When Daryl stepped soundlessly from behind a tree, everyone’s guns were up in a flash. 

Daryl flipped his hands up on his wrists beneath the big buck he had balanced across his shoulders. “We surrender,” he sassed, and Rick let his gun drop with a half-exasperated sigh. 

Abraham moved up to help with the buck – they got its hooves tied to a trimmed branch, and slung it up between them. Sasha and Bob dropped back to cover the rear, and the rest of them put Daryl and Abraham – and more importantly, all that fresh meat – at the center of their formation, eyes up and weapons ready. 

Rick was starting to feel like he must be growing paranoid. He was seeing flickers of motion at the edges of his vision; after startling at the first few, when no one else did, he tried to ignore them. He thought he was looking pretty alert, at least, until Carl started scooting closer with each careful step. 

Rick fell back to walk next to Daryl, wishing he could help shoulder the load. He walked quietly beside Daryl for a while, watching him from the corner of his eye, the easy way he walked and the strain in the tense lines of his face. “Everything quiet out there?” he finally asked.

“No tracks or sign,” Daryl said. His eyes were on the woods, and Rick turned to follow his gaze. There was nothing there, but Daryl didn’t seem reassured by that. 

Rick touched Daryl’s back, and went to check in with the rest of the group. It was like he’d been in a daze, and as he came back to himself, he felt the need to circle the wagons, make sure everything was okay.

Tara was walking a little to one side, by herself, so Rick fell into step with her. She wouldn’t look at him, cutting sideways glances at him from the corner of her eyes, her head tilted down.

“Hey,” he said, low, catching another of those little glances. “You didn’t want to be there.”

She looked away again, and a look like pain crossed her face. 

“That’s why I tried to talk to you,” Rick tried again. She finally looked at him, but there was so much pain in her eyes. “Glenn told me you saved his life,” he said, reaching for something positive to mention.

She grimaced a little. “He saved mine.”

Rick nodded. “That’s how it works with us, right?”

And she finally smiled. “Right,” she said, and suddenly she was walking a little taller. He started to turn away, and she said, “Hey!” 

When he looked back, she was pointing her fist at him. He looked down at it, and saw her hand was shaking, just a little. He forced a rusty-sounding chuckle out of his dry throat, and reached out with his own fist, tapping hers gently.

This time when he dropped back to touch base with Glenn and Maggie, Tara followed him, and stayed with them when he left, looking like she’d found her place.

He thought about checking with Sasha, but she was playing some sort of word game with Bob, both of them grinning and laughing, and Tyreese was following close behind with the gentlest smile on his face, watching them together. Rick looked away, biting his lip. 

The light was fading, and Rick fell into step beside Daryl again, trying to get the blanket poncho up to cover his neck a little better. His beard was cutting the wind nicely in the front, but his hair didn’t quite cover the back of his neck, and the damp cold seemed to gnaw at the exposed skin. 

Daryl was watching him, cutting sideways glances between looking down to check his footing, more careful than usual under the weight of the deer. After a while, he propped the stick on his shoulder with one hand long enough to yank the red handkerchief from his back pocket, handing it over to Rick with a roll of his eyes. 

Rick nodded his thanks, even though he was being made fun of, and tied the kerchief around his neck. While the rag smelled of motor oil and sweat, Rick was instantly warmer, and he smiled a little, pleased. 

A moment later something moved in the corner of his eye, and he twitched, wanting to turn and look but knowing there was probably nothing there. Daryl cocked his head to look at him, brows furrowed. “You okay, man?”

Rick nodded, bit his lip, nodded again. He couldn’t quite meet Daryl’s eyes, though, and Daryl snorted. “Sure,” Daryl muttered, and shifted the weight of the deer on his shoulder. Rick watched his profile, feeling a little colder.

“I’m, uh, I been seeing things,” Rick admitted, quiet enough that Abraham couldn’t hear. Daryl sort of perked up, and while he didn’t look at Rick again, Rick could feel he had the other man’s undivided attention.

“What kind of things?” Daryl murmured.

Now Rick was the one looking away. “Just … stuff,” he muttered. “Like, flickers, kind of.”

Daryl nodded slowly. “Not like before?” he asked.

“Not, not exactly.” Rick was quiet for a moment, and Daryl let him be. “It’s just, um, a shape.”

“Like a square? A triangle?” Daryl sassed.

“Like a person,” Rick admitted. There was a hitch in Daryl’s stride, just enough to throw Abraham off balance a little. He cursed, colorfully, but caught his balance, and Daryl put a little of his focus back on walking. 

“So, Lori.” Daryl sounded resigned, and Rick glanced down, feeling shamed.

“I guess.” He sighed. “Somebody wearing white. I saw … something like it, before. Wedding dress.”

Daryl seemed to understand, or at least he didn’t ask again. 

They walked together quietly for a while; that fellow with the mullet, Eugene, started grumbling to the woman, Rose-something. Abraham looked back over one shoulder toward Rick, and Rick drifted up to walk beside him. “Need to start heading north,” Abraham started.

“I know,” Rick said. “Glenn said this cure was legit.”

Eugene looked like he was going to speak up, but Abraham drawled, “Guaran-fucking-teed. And the sooner we get to DC, the better for everybody.”

Rick nodded. “Makes sense.” He thought for a moment. “Might be good to take a day or two, set in some supplies.”

“Get healed up?” Abraham asked.

It was said without malice, but Rick still winced a little. He glanced at Abraham, who had four inches on him, who knows how many pounds of muscle, and something driven beneath his skin that could easily get them all killed. 

If it came to it, Rick would have to kill him fast. 

After a moment, Rick sighed. “Yeah, and to get healed up.” He glanced over again. “That going to be a problem?”

Rosita tensed, over on Eugene’s other side, but Abraham smiled, easy as could be, and said, “No, I guess we could all use it, after that shit storm.” Just as Rick was relaxing, Abraham looked at him again. “As long as it’s just a couple of days.”

Rick nodded, tension crawling up his back. He sort of twitched at Rosita and Eugene, and they took it as a goodbye, Rosita even waving at him, and he fell back a few feet to walk beside Daryl again.

“What the hell was that about?” Daryl hissed.

“Timing,” Rick muttered, watching how the two soldiers moved around Eugene, even tethered by the damn deer. Looking for weak spots in their formation.

“Rick?” Daryl said, like he’d said it a few times now, annoyed, and Rick looked over. “Well?” And he sort of gestured with his head for Rick to continue.

“They want to head north in a couple of days,” Rick explained, glancing back at them. They looked less like prey, now, and Rick shifted his gaze toward the woods, feeling troubled.

“Well, shit,” Daryl said. He looked ready to continue, but just then, Michonne whistled a stop. Rick and Daryl exchanged glances, and then Rick tried to jog forward – for a couple of steps, before walking forward, carefully, to check on Michonne and Carol.

They were up ahead a bit, and Glenn jogged up to flank Rick and the two of them went together, guns up. Carol had gotten a bit out of sight in the brush, and Rick tore through it impatiently, Glenn trying to help him and then they broke through into a clearing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They seem to find sanctuary, for now.

It looked – homey, was Rick’s first thought.

As he and Glenn broke out of the brush, a line of shrubs and bushes growing along the edge of the woods where the sunlight could hit them, they saw what Carol had been leading them to – a sanctuary. It was a little house, tan, with a deep front porch, a red brick chimney rising over a black roof, lots of windows with white trim. The railing of the porch had old fashioned spindles, and there was a rocking chair, just waiting for someone to sit in it. There was an outbuilding that looked pretty sturdy, and a shed that looked ancient and disreputable. The whole thing was shaded by old pecan trees, and the wide lawn was fenced in with barbed wire. 

It was perfect.

Rick looked at Glenn, who was smiling too, and they both moved forward to join the two women at the fence. Rick whistled an _all-okay_ back to the others, and Michonne smiled at him, the quiet little smile she only wore when she was really happy, and he felt himself grinning back. 

Carol looked troubled, and Rick felt a pang of worry – but then Carl came running out of the trees, eyes getting big when he saw the undisturbed little house. 

The others came just behind him, everyone looking so relieved, and Carl stopped beside him and threw an arm around him in a quick hug, Sasha and Bob already back to laughing, and Rick, distracted, forgot about it.

They got inside the fence, securing it, and Rick started thinking about how they could make it better, stronger. Pecans crunched beneath their feet, some still in their soft blackened hulls, others bare and brittle, bone-pale peeking out of the dried grass. Scuffs and scrapes in the red earth marked where some struggle had occurred. 

Yellow flowers poked up through the trampled grass, bobbing cheerfully in the light breeze. Maggie leaned down and picked one, tucking it behind Tara’s ear with a playful laugh. Glenn caught them both up in a hug, and Rick clapped him on the shoulder, only to find himself swept in by Maggie’s arm and hugged quite thoroughly. “We’re gonna be okay,” she whispered.

Rick looked around for Carol, wanting to share this moment with her, but she was already up on the porch and inside. Feeling oddly deflated, Rick extracted himself from their arms. The atmosphere became a bit more subdued, and everyone got to work making camp. 

Daryl got Abraham’s help stringing up the deer, then started butchering it himself. Rick tried to stay with him for a while, but Daryl shooed him inside as the sun went down and it got colder. 

Inside Carol had started a fire in a potbellied stove, and the little house was becoming cozy. Rick moved through the kitchen, touching Carol’s shoulder, Maggie’s back, bumping fists with Tara, just sort of making sure his people were there and okay. 

In the living room, Tyreese was making a pattern with a stack of kindling in the big stone fireplace, Carl sitting next to it with Judith in his lap, bouncing her up and down; he looked up as Rick came into the room, smiled, and moved one of Judy’s hands in a little waving motion. Rick waved back automatically, feeling a smile of his own cross his face. 

Abraham and his people had claimed the corner by the back door, making a nest of blankets and sleeping bags with the easy movements of long habit. Glenn was setting up nearby, and Sasha had taken the wall opposite, next to but not on the big brown sofa that faced the fireplace. Bob was helping her, or teasing her, but either way she definitely didn’t seem to mind it. Everyone was here, everyone was safe. 

He slid down the wall to sit next to Michonne, just brushing his shoulder up against hers. She pressed in closer, until he felt warmth all down his side. He didn’t look at her, and she didn’t look at him, and Rick felt weariness pass over him in a wave.

It seemed like just moments later, and Daryl was shouldering in through the side door with his arms full of meat, and a kettle was screaming on the potbellied stove; soon enough the smell of sizzling meat filled the cabin, and there was a bustle of plates and glasses passed around. 

Someone pressed a mug of tea into Rick’s hands, and he balanced it on top of his knees, smelling peppermint and some other herb he couldn’t identify, something sharp and spicy. Michonne was holding two plates of food, and Rick wondered why for a second before Daryl sat down on his other side, propping himself against the wall, pressing his shoulder against Rick’s. Michonne passed the second plate over to Daryl, and Daryl started eating – noisily, in Rick’s ear, which was annoying, but familiar enough to be comforting. Michonne was snickering in his other ear, and Rick drank his tea until his stomach settled, and started stealing bits of food from the both of them. 

They had planned for it, of course, and Michonne handed him a spare fork. There was the deer meat, a little canned corn, canned green beans, the little ones cut at an angle. It was at moments like this Rick really missed butter. Even so, it was a regular feast, and the mood in the cabin was light, and warm. The meat didn’t smell quite like the bird had, earlier, like Terminus. But it was red, juices running out onto the plate; the corn had created a sort of dam between the juices and the rest of the food, and Rick ate up to that line, couldn’t quite make himself go farther. 

Daryl was stealing glances at him from the corner of his eyes, seeming to look down at his plate but peering at Rick whenever his fork stopped moving. After a while, Rick had finished his tea, and set the mug on the floor between them. Michonne handed him her plate, and he finished off the green beans she’d left him, and forced down a bite of the deer, then another. It was like he could feel it in his stomach, sitting there, an uncomfortable weight. He managed a third bite before shoving the plate back into Michonne’s hands. 

She looked at him, concern in her brown eyes. He tried to smile at her; it didn’t seem to reassure her much, and Rick grudgingly took another bit of the deer meat. It seemed to stick in his throat, and Carl appeared with a bottle of water. He was looking concerned, too.

“Come on, Dad,” Carl was saying. “We’re over here.”

“We need someone on watch,” Rick heard himself saying, though his voice seemed very far away.

“I got it,” Daryl said, patting him roughly on the shoulder. Rick touched his hand, and Daryl squeezed his fingers briefly before pulling away. 

“Come on,” Carl said again, and Rick let himself be pulled up and laid down between Michonne and Carl, Carl curled around Judith, in front of the banked fire. Michonne pulled a blanket up over his shoulders, and he tucked it around Carl, too, and the baby, and slowly became warm.

* * *

He thought at first it was a nightmare.

He’d been sleeping, he was sure of it, though he had an impression of the slow-burning fire behind his eyelids that changed abruptly to darkness, and figures moving rapidly through the dark, and someone was jostling him as if to shake him awake.

“We have to move,” Daryl hissed in his ear, then, expecting Rick to help, hauled him to his feet in one rough move. Rick clung to his arm for a moment, head reeling. He started to ask, “what—”

Daryl shushed him, got the blanket poncho back over his head. Rick’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Carl was staying close, back to them, keeping watch. He couldn’t see Michonne. Everyone was being as quiet as they could, but even over the rustle of fabric and the clink of weapons Rick could hear the moans of the walkers outside. 

A sudden spike of adrenaline oozed down his spine, made his heart turn over in his chest. Daryl was trying to juggle his weapons and Rick’s, and Rick grabbed the Python from him and thrust it into its holster. Daryl shot him a quick look of thanks, shrugging into his pack and grabbing Rick’s from behind the couch. 

In moments they were all ready to go, and without needing any light they all headed toward the back of the little house. Rick couldn’t see which of them was leading the way, but he followed, trusting. Daryl took the rear, and Rick had another thought for Michonne; then they were out, and fighting.

It all seemed to happen in stuttering flashes. 

A fragment here, a moment there. Tyreese holding Judith in one arm, swinging his hammer in the other. Carol’s knife. Michonne darting out of the trees, sword flashing. 

Not one of them fired a shot. 

Rick struck with his machete, rhythmically, like hacking through heavy brush that happened to moan and bleed. 

He couldn’t always see the others. Walkers rose up before him, fell broken, only for more to appear. 

He saw Abraham crush a walker’s skull in his bare hands. He saw Carl trailing Tyreese like a shadow, knifing any walker who got past that hammer. He saw Sasha pull a walker off of Bob, its arm coming loose with a sound like breaking a wet stick. 

Walkers rose up before him, and he struck at them, hard. The machete was sharp, at first, cleaving neatly through flesh and bone. It got duller. Broke through a skull instead of cutting. Crushed in the head of something that had been a woman. Stuck in the neck of what had been a boy.

He wrenched it free, fell back and tried again. The blow landed, but he overbalanced, fell to his knees. They were on him, then. He got one onto the ground, struck it in the head with the hilt of his machete. 

A crossbow bolt appeared in the head of another, giving him just enough time to get back to his feet. Daryl hauled on his arm anyway, getting him closer to the others. 

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen behind. 

It went on like that. He didn’t know for how long. 

The world had become so small, just flashes of violence, the harsh rasp of his own breathing, the moans of the walkers, bodies looming up at him out of the dark. They had crossed a road at some point, out in the open for a moment before plunging back into the thick woods. Rick fell again, and Daryl hauled him back up, keeping a hand on his arm this time. Rick wanted to shake him off, make Daryl look after himself, but couldn’t quite find the strength.

The steep bank of a creek seemed to come out of nowhere in the darkness. Rick was running, and his feet just went out from under him. He yelled, and flailed for balance; his machete went flying, and his shoulder slammed into a tree trunk, spinning him. He stumbled, slid a few feet in a sickening lurch, and Daryl’s hand pulled on his arm, hard, keeping him upright as they plunged into the water.

He remembered being a kid, running across a field with his dad; he’d been young, maybe eight, and holding onto his dad’s hand so that he was almost carried along, legs working but effortless, like he was flying.

For just a moment, he felt that weightlessness again. 

It was a shallow creek, not very wide, and Daryl was hauling him across it like he was a recalcitrant bag of laundry. Rick’s foot smashed into a rock under the cold water, and he stumbled a little; Daryl snarled something at him and, with walkers pouring over the edges of the bank like lemmings in that old documentary, wrenched him back up, and Rick staggered with him up to the other back.

If anything it was steeper, and for a moment Rick just stared up at it and felt dread. He couldn’t make out much in the dark, just the shapes of trees and the red clay like a wall. Daryl hauled Rick a few steps up, but this bank was slick, and they were sliding back down. “Shit,” he muttered, and shoved Rick against a tree. 

Rick watched him kill the only walker that had managed to get across the stream, feeling sort of distant, like he was watching a movie about someone killing a walker. The body fell back in the water with a loud splash; another walker tripped over it, and Rick giggled.

“What the hell, man?” Daryl hissed, smacking Rick in the arm. Rick hadn’t noticed him come back, and turned to look at him, startled. Daryl was messing with his crossbow, and the next thing Rick knew, Daryl was forcing the strap of it over Rick’s head. Rick helped him do it, not really sure why but willing to go along with it. He realized why in the next moment, as Daryl used his free hand to haul Rick up the steep bank, clinging with the other to the tree trunks like rungs on a ladder. 

Once Rick saw what Daryl was doing, he tried to help, mostly keeping his feet under him and pushing at tree trunks as they went by. It seemed like they were taking three steps up, only to slide two back, the combination of wet Georgia clay and slick leaf litter like trying to walk on ice, only more treacherous. It had been a long fucking night, and Rick felt like any energy had been absolutely drained out of him. 

He was never sure afterward how they got to the top. 

After what seemed like hours of Daryl pulling and cursing the trees and wrenching at Rick’s arm, he paused. Rick looked up, and even in the darkness he could see the hand, extended to take his. With what felt like his last burst of strength, he reached for it, and his hand was taken in a firm grasp, and he was pulled up. More hands reached out, grasping at his blanket, at his arms, lifting him up over the edge, and into the arms of his friends.

Bob and Glenn had pulled him up, and they pulled Daryl up after him. Rick hung onto Glenn’s arm, swaying a little. Daryl took his crossbow back, pulling the strap over Rick’s head, carefully, almost gently.

“I think we’re okay,” Glenn was saying. “I don’t think they can get up that slope.”

“Nah,” Daryl said, “they’ll have to follow the creek, be stuck down there for days.”

“We should find somewhere to hole up,” Bob said softly. “Figure out what we have left.”

Maggie appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, on Glenn’s other side. Rick blinked at her. “Can they get up?” she asked. 

“No, I think we’re good,” Glenn reassured her. 

“There’s a road ahead,” she told them. It was just getting a little lighter, and Rick studied the lines of her face. She looked exhausted, they all did, but no one looked injured. “Abraham thinks he found a car.”

“That’d be something,” Bob said, and strode off in that direction. Glenn sort of handed Rick off to Daryl, which Rick would take exception to, as soon as he felt up to it, and followed Bob with Maggie. 

Daryl had that steadying hand on Rick’s shoulder. Neither one of them mentioned that it was trembling beneath his blanket poncho.

“C’mon,” Daryl said, and tugged Rick along with him toward the road.

Over the tops of the trees, just visible on the brightening horizon to the southeast, billows of white smoke faded into the morning sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long it would take a machete to go dull if using it to kill walkers, but I know it’s pretty quick if you’re clearing brush. Eh, close enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced back on the road, the gang searches for a means of transportation, and Rick tries to reconnect with his family.

They spent the night in the car Abraham had found.

It was actually a beat-up old church van, so they had not quite enough room for everyone to squeeze inside – except Bob offered to sleep on the roof, said he preferred it, and Sasha went up with him, so, with everyone crammed onto the bench seats or down on the floor, they all just managed to fit. 

By the time Daryl had dragged Rick to the van, it had been cleared – Rick noticed Abraham dragging a body toward the ditch that ran alongside the road before Daryl shoved bodily him into the van. Rick clipped the side of his head against the door, a little shock, and Carol caught ahold of his blanket poncho, guiding him down onto one of the full-length bench seats. He let her lay him down, and, feeling sort of stunned, blinked up at her. 

The corner of her mouth quirked upward in a sad little smile, and she tried to brush his blood-stiff hair off his forehead. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.

Carl made a nest on the floor next to Rick, curling up with Judith. At that point Rick started to lose track of where his people had settled. He glimpsed Daryl sitting up in the driver’s seat, and thought he heard Maggie and Glenn trying to share the bench next to his, but as the sun crested the tops of the trees and the world grew bright again, he fell into sleep like diving into a deep well.

* * *

The next morning they started north.

Abraham took the lead, Sasha a little behind and off to his left, eyes bright and silenced rifle at the ready. Rosita nudged Eugene toward the center of the group, and he pulled Tara along with him in a whirl of strange chatter. Daryl pulled Rick up from the bumper of the van, looked into his eyes for a long moment, and nodded. Rick nodded back, though he didn’t know what he was agreeing to, and Daryl took off into the woods, heading northwest, probably to hunt. Rick watched him go for a long moment, until he’d disappeared into the brush; kept watching until Carl waved a hand across Rick’s line of sight.

He blinked. “What?”

Carl’s brow was furrowed, and his mouth was moving, and Rick found himself maneuvered into the middle of the group, with Eugene, and Tyreese, who had strapped Judy into that chest carrying thing. Rick watched them with a weird, mixed feeling of envy, but also relief. 

His head wasn’t spinning, but something felt … fragile. He watched Bob take up position near Sasha, Glenn and Maggie taking the rear with wary eyes. Michonne walked with them, one hand on her sword like it might fly away if she let go. Rick wondered how she’d gotten it back, who she’d killed to get it back. 

He’d killed so many of them, and in some ways it hadn’t been enough. Made a monster of himself, and it still hadn’t been enough.

They followed the road until midday. 

The time seemed to pass both quickly and as slow as molasses. Carol still hadn’t said a word to him, but had planted herself at his left elbow, and twitched every time he so much as hesitated to take a step. If he were to fall, he had no doubt she’d try to catch him somehow, so he walked carefully, watching the ground more than the edges of the woods. 

He should be on lookout. He should be watching. 

But he trusted his people. And Carol shouldn’t have to bear his weight.

Around midday, the road split into a T-junction running east-west. They stopped at the edge of the woods, milling a bit. 

They hadn’t known where they were, not exactly. They’d been running, really, just seeking distance. Only Abraham’s mission had given them a direction. The realization spread out in ripples, in murmurs and strangely quiet curses. 

Rick stared at the sign blankly, having a hard time coming up with a reaction. 

Highway 23  
Atlanta  
25 miles

They’d traveled so far, only to end up practically back at the beginning. 

“We need to be heading more east,” Abraham was saying. He’d pulled out a battered road map, and was consulting it with a squint that did not inspire confidence. Eugene was trying to get a look, but for some reason Abraham was holding the map just a little too high, and tilted away from Eugene’s line of sight.

“We could follow the road to this little highway, here,” Rosita said, dragging her finger along the map. Rick took a couple of steps closer until, squinting, he could make out the familiar shapes of the surrounding county. It looked like they were just outside Juliette, and Rosita was pointing to the small dot that marked Monticello.

“Big jam-up of cars that away,” Rick said. Heads turned, and suddenly everybody was looking at him. He cleared his throat. “When we came through, winter before last.”

“Yeah,” Glenn said, sidling closer to get a look at the map. “Twenty or thirty cars, an eighteen-wheeler, maybe.”

Daryl stepped out of the trees carrying a half dozen squirrels on a rope. “What’re we talking about?” he asked.

“That pile up we passed, last year, on highway 83,” Maggie explained quietly, “it’s not far from here.”

Daryl shrugged. “About an hour, if we cut through the woods.”

“We were pretty rushed before,” Rick admitted, remembering that long cold winter, Lori growing thinner and thinner while her belly grew, grotesquely swollen on her brittle frame, hounded by walkers at every turn. “That herd drove us off. Might be a running car we missed. Hell, might be two.”

“Well alright,” Abraham said, a wide smile pulling at his moustache. “Sounds like it’s worth checking out.”

They were all a little excited by the prospect of a car, and, in spite of their weariness, everyone set off at a brisk pace. 

Daryl stuck closer, the string of squirrels swinging from his belt; Rick listened to the rhythmic thump of the furry little bodies, somehow distinct even among the sound of so many people tramping through the woods. The trees were a little sparser here, further apart and the forest floor covered with a soft carpet of dead needles that seemed to soak up any sounds. 

They would probably pass through the edge of the Piedmont wildlife refuge, Rick thought, which might be safer than trying to get back to the 75 toward Atlanta. He said as much to Daryl, in a quiet murmur; Daryl nodded along, then said, “Ought to be a few hunting cabins. Might find something.”

“Slim pickings, otherwise,” Rick noted.

“There’ll be something in those cars,” Daryl insisted.

In some ways, that’s what Rick was worried about.

It took them more like three hours, at their current pace. Rick knew he was to blame, but every time he tried to speed up Carol tugged on his arm, or Carl asked him a question, or Daryl knocked a shoulder into him so he realized how off balance he really was. He preferred Carl’s method, to be honest.

But the pile up wasn’t going anywhere.

They broke from the woods carefully, Daryl and Michonne creeping out first, while Bob and Sasha took flanking positions to watch all along the edge of the trees. Stuck securely in the middle of the group with Tyreese and Judith, Rick could only watch as Daryl stepped out from behind a leaning pine and tossed a rock toward the middle of the road.

It bounced off the hood of a green Chevy with a loud clang. The world seemed to hold its breath for a long moment. Rick’s fingers felt out the handle of his Colt.

Nothing moved. 

Not hearing a sound, Michonne left the cover of the tree line, and moved out among the stalled cars. Daryl paralleled her movements, his crossbow at the ready. After a few more moments, Daryl whistled a high, clear birdcall, and the rest of the group followed him out onto the road. 

They broke into search teams, moving through each vehicle efficiently. Rick found himself parked on the tailgate of a red truck with a crumpled fender, Judith in his arms, while Tyreese helped the others. 

And they were finding amazing amounts of salvage. Rick knew this stretch of road fairly well—only a few small towns nearby, federal land on two sides, there wouldn’t be much competition for resources. But it was also one of the few roads north. Once the highway had become gridlocked, people must have tried fleeing this direction. 

He looked over the stretch of cars, trying to imagine it. 

The panic, driving toward what might be safety or might be a death trap, cars crushed between trucks and eighteen-wheelers, eighteen-wheelers overturned, walkers everywhere you looked. There were several cars that had gotten stuck in mud beside the road – when the traffic jammed up they must have tried to go around, and maybe some had made it. But so many more hadn’t, and the mud they’d been trapped in had dried solid, halfway up the wheels for some of the smaller sedans, like the beginnings of fossils. 

Carl came back with an armful of food, what Shane would have called road snacks in another life – Slim Jims and chips, candy bars and little single serve bags of peanuts. The kinds of things you could toss in a glove compartment or armrest and forget about. Rick accepted a bag of peanuts from him, handing Judith over when Carl held out his arms, and they sat together for a moment.

“Are you okay?” he asked, licking salt from his fingers. 

Carl was bouncing Judith on his knee, but turned to look at him. “Am I okay? Dad, you—”

“I’ll be okay,” he insisted, knowing he’d proven himself weak before his son too recently.

Carl hesitated before nodding. “Sure, dad,” he said, and went back to the search.

Carl stopped by Tyreese where he was searching a small green hatchback. The larger man nodded, and took Judith in his arms. Rick watched them, feeling lost. After a few moments, the sun hot on the top of his head, Daryl wandered closer, approaching at an oblique angle to sit next to him. Their shoulders touched.

“Find anything?” Rick asked. His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. The sound seemed unusually loud to his ears. 

Daryl was peering at him sideways as he sometimes did, and nodded. “Found some food, some batteries that’re still good.” He paused, looked down for a moment, and pulled a hatchet from his bag. “And this, for you.”

To replace his lost machete, Rick realized. He took the hatchet in his right hand, feeling the weight of it. The whole thing was a little less than two feet in length, with a nice-sized blade that looked sharp. He swung it experimentally. “The balance is good,” he told Daryl, and Daryl nodded.”Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Daryl said, shrugging. 

Rick leaned into his side, feeling warm. “Still,” he said roughly.

“Yeah,” Daryl said. 

He bumped his shoulder against Daryl’s, and Daryl turned to look at him, really look at him in a way he didn’t very often.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, sounding hesitant, one hand coming up as if to touch Rick’s neck.

And something about it hit Rick, just then, reminding him inescapably of Shane, kneeling before him, a warm hand on his cheek, checking his pupils and wiping his son’s blood from his skin.

Rick shuddered, pulling back slightly. “I’m good.”

Daryl drew back, looking hurt.

And god, it hurt worse than the knife Shane had wanted to shove through his heart. But he couldn’t make himself reach out.

“Hey!” 

The shout startled Rick, and he stiffened before realizing it was one of the new people, the woman.

“Rosita,” Daryl murmured, and Rick glanced at him sideways, trying to convey his gratitude.

She stopped a few feet away from them, grinning. “Abraham found us a car.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraham's find is less useful that they hoped, and the group has to keep running. Rick starts to fade.

Abraham had found one working mid-sized sedan, a faded blue Camry. Four adults would fit in it comfortably, five uncomfortably. But there was no way it would carry all of them, or even all of the people Abraham wanted to take to Washington.

Rick was grimly aware that Abraham would cheerfully leave the group behind if he could have Glenn. But with Glenn came Maggie and Tara. So the car, which had seemed like such a miraculous find at first, turned out to be worthless.

Abraham kicked its fender sharply, cursing in strange, unfamiliar words. “Motherdick!”

Rick’s heart jumped in his chest at the loud noise, and he turned to see Daryl scanning the edge of the trees in both directions so Rick could focus on this situation. His heart squeezed, like a fist closing around it. But he forced himself to turn back to the others.

“We can keep looking,” Rick began, but Abraham kicked the fender again, viciously, and again. Rick took a step back, looked at Glenn for an explanation. 

Glenn shrugged, but his hand drifted a little closer to his gun.

The woman, Rosita, made a small movement like she wanted to put a hand on Abraham’s broad shoulder, but she hesitated, and then her hand fell. At Rick’s side, Daryl was utterly still but Rick could feel the tension coming off him, palpable, like a radiant heat.

Abraham was looking less and less like an asset. 

No one was doing anything, and Rick had an almost clairvoyant vision of what would happen if he tried to stop Abraham’s fit of rage – the elbow that would slam back to smash into his nose or his jaw, the worsening concussion, the group slowed even further by his weakness.

“Best to give him space,” he murmured to Daryl, who shuffled a tiny bit closer to stand just a fraction in front of Rick. Rick knew he shouldn’t let the other man shield him, that he should be annoyed. But part of him felt so warmed by the gesture. 

Eugene had finally gotten a hold of the map, and of all of them he was the one brave enough to step into the radius of Abraham’s arms. 

“There appears to be a miniscule settlement directly east of here,” he said, waving the map a bit. Abraham froze in place. Eugene’s voice was somehow non-confrontational but also loud enough to be heard as he continued, “I propose we adjourn this discussion until we have the opportunity to ascertain whether we might find further resources in this hamlet.”

Abraham was still breathing heavily, his massive shoulders heaving with each breath. 

“It’s a good plan,” Rosita said softly. Rick left Abraham’s people to it. They seemed to be familiar with the redhead’s temper.

“There might still be another car,” Maggie was saying. “We haven’t checked them all.”

Daryl shifted his crossbow, tugging on its strap. Rick turned to look at him – sometimes they could have a conversation just with their eyes, and Rick wanted to know what he thought about the three strangers.

And in the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw a flicker of white.

Rick froze, his whole body stiffening.

He thought he’d been getting better.

He tried to ignore it for a moment. He wasn’t going to look.

Daryl was looking back at him now, cocking his head slightly in question. Rick shook his head, biting his lip as he turned resolutely back toward the ongoing argument.

But there it was again. That strange flicker.

He didn’t look. He wouldn’t look.

Daryl nudged Rick’s shoulder with his own, and Rick turned to look at him again.

And that’s when he saw it.

A walker had staggered out of the tree line, and as Rick watched it was followed by another, and then more, and behind them dozens just barely visible in the shadows.

“Herd,” he hissed, and heard it repeated down the line. 

His people began to move instantly, gathering up their weapons and everything they had found. Rosita was nudging Eugene toward his things. Rick cast about for Judith, saw her secured in Tyreese’s sling, Carl next to him, and gratitude for Tyreese almost overwhelmed him. Daryl stayed by Rick, and they all started to move up the road together.

“We need to go east,” Eugene said, a little too loud. Abraham was back on track, and shushed him, gathering their things and following Rick’s lead in this at least. 

“Alright, east then,” Rick agreed, and then they were back in the trees.

And they ran.

Rick would never know how long it lasted. 

He began to falter barely a quarter mile in. His breath was rasping in his throat, and the pain in his head tightened, clamping around his whole head, but sharper on the right, where he’d been creased by a bullet in Terminus. Lightning bolts of pain, like someone was trying to shoot him all over again. He stumbled, nearly fell. Daryl caught his elbow, and hustled him forward. The others were getting ahead, even Eugene, and Glenn dropped back to grab Rick’s other arm. Michonne was there too, getting behind them, her katana raised and ready. With Daryl and Glenn to keep him steady, Rick was able to move. 

And things seemed to blur.

Time passed. His feet were moving. If he stumbled, the other two men kept him upright. He was moving. They came to a hill at one point, and Michonne had to help push him up it. His head was whirling, and throbbing in time with each gasping breath. They broke out of the shadow into a clearing. Four or five walkers were feeding on two men. The light dazzled his eyes. Abraham and Bob killed most of them, almost silently, just the pounding of their tools on rotting flesh. Michonne beheaded the last, and they were on the move again. He tried to turn his head to look at the severed head, but Daryl tugged him forward.

“Dad?” Carl said at one point, sometime later. He couldn’t answer, moved his lips but no sound came out.

They were moving.

The pain in his head was so all-consuming that he had a hard time noticing anything else. His hands curled in toward his chest, drawing Daryl and Glenn closer with the involuntary movement. He was staring down at his feet. His feet were moving. His hands came into his narrowing view. His fingers were wrinkled, like he’d just come out of a long bath. He rubbed them together. It hurt to breathe.

“Rick?” Daryl said to him. He turned his head to answer, but couldn’t think of anything to say. “We need to stop,” Daryl said to someone else, his voice like a low growl in Rick’s right ear.

“I think we’re far enough ahead,” Glenn said in his right ear, panting. Rick knew he was too heavy for the smaller man. He should be walking on his own. But when he tried to tug away, Glenn tightened his grip.

The line faltered, slowed, stopped in a little space beneath the trees. Glenn and Daryl set him down with his back to one of the trees. Glenn patted his shoulder, and went to check on Maggie. Daryl crouched next to him.

“You okay, man?” he asked.

Rick nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped. “I’m good, we can keep moving.”

“Bullshit,” Michonne said. She sheathed her sword, and pulled a bottle of water out of her pack. “Drink that, and we’ll go.”

Abraham stood several feet behind her. He seemed to loom, shifting impatiently. Rick nodded to Michonne, took the water in unsteady hands, and drank it as quickly as he could manage.

Now that he was still, the world seemed to rotate slowly around him. The water was warm, stale, and like heaven on his parched tongue, his dry throat. Tara darted forward, offering Michonne a half-empty bottle of water to replace the one she’d given to Rick. Michonne shook her head, and Tara halted, holding the bottle awkwardly. Daryl nudged his shoulder, reminding him to drink, but guilt settled in his gut. He was a drain on them. He wasn’t worth this. He’d get them killed.

“You should go on ahead,” he said, but his voice was a small thing in his throat, quiet enough that Daryl, even right next to him, had to strain forward to hear the words. 

But Daryl just snorted. “Drink your water.”

His stomach felt full, uncomfortably heavy. They wouldn’t leave without him even though they should. He forced himself to swallow the rest of the water. His belly cramped, a brief spasm, but he kept the water down.

“Good?” Abraham barked. “Let’s move, people!”

Rick nodded. They needed to keep moving. 

He couldn’t move.

Hands caught his arms, shoulders, pulled him to his feet. He was swaying, just a little. Bob handed his rifle off to Sasha and took Glenn’s place on Rick’s right side. Daryl stayed on his left, winding one strong arm around Rick’s waist. And they were moving.

A few years back he’d had his eyes dilated for an exam at his eye doctor’s. He’d had to drive himself home, because Lori had been with Carl and he hadn’t wanted to bother her. It was just after dark, and every head light from passing cars, every street lamp flared, painfully, like a small sun. 

Every scrap of light flared like that now. 

They moved in the deep shade of the woods, mostly, but shafts of light would break through, seeming so sudden, and he’d try to flinch away but Daryl and Bob held him tighter, thinking each time that he was falling, inadvertently holding him in the light.

“Hold on,” Bob was saying. “Just hold on.”

Daryl was silent, and for some reason that made Rick worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to feel bad for what I'm doing to Rick ....


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming across a mysterious priest, the group finally finds a place to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where I’m really taking chunks of dialogue from the show, and then adapting to fit as needed. So some of this will seem very familiar, but I’m using some of it for different purposes, to fit my plot.
> 
> Warning: Non-canonical character death. See notes at the end if you'd rather be spoiled on this one.

By the end of it they had covered ten miles or more. He couldn’t say how much time had passed, only that they slowed down eventually. It wasn’t dark but the sun was lower in the sky.

They paused, and Glenn stepped out of the trees, Rosita at his back. Rick hadn’t even realized they’d been gone, and he felt a terrible sense of dislocation. He should have noticed.

“We’re clear,” Glenn said, panting.

“It looks like they’re drifting back toward the highway,” Rosita continued for him. Maggie handed her a bottle of water, gave another to Glenn. They were all thirsty, and Rick knew they would need supplies, and soon.

“Okay, we keep heading to this town,” Abraham said. Even his voice sounded rough.

“But slower,” Tyreese insisted. “We’ll get there before dark.”

Abraham looked at him for a long moment. Carol stirred, briefly. But Abraham just nodded, and they were back on the move.

At a walking pace, Rick could manage on his own. Daryl watched him closely for a quarter mile or so, and Rick tried not to mind too much. After a while, Daryl caught his gaze, nodded, and faded back into the trees to scout ahead, or behind, Rick wasn’t exactly sure which. His legs felt strangely stiff, and he mostly kept his eyes on the ground, watching each foot moving forward like it was happening to someone else.

Carol was sticking close to Tyreese, who was carrying Judith, and Carl. Glenn and Maggie took point, and Abraham took the rear, Rosita following him with a Type 56 held ready in her thin arms. 

The woods they were walking through were very green; the larger trees were surrounded by saplings and patches of underbrush wherever the sun poked through. Rick moved up to walk with Michonne. 

“You feeling okay?” she asked, voice very low.

Rick bit his lip, hesitated. Abraham was at the back. “Still dizzy,” he said, trying to be honest. “But I can keep going.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

There was a crackling in the brush ahead; Rick stopped short, hand going to his gun, Michonne’s to her sword, Glenn and Maggie drawing on—

\-- Daryl, stepping out from some bushes with that damn string of squirrels still hanging over one shoulder. Rick thought it might have gotten longer, but he couldn’t be sure.

He held up both hands, and said, “We surrender.”

Maggie huffed out a small laugh; Daryl handed her the string of squirrels and came over to walk beside Rick for a moment. Rick led them a little away from the others.

“No tracks, no nothing,” Daryl said, squinting a little from his black eye.

“You think we’re good?” Rick asked, looking back the way they had come.

“Not sure,” he said slowly. 

“Something out there?” Rick prodded.

“No, just … a feeling.”

Rick thought for a moment. “We could pick up the pace.”

Daryl shook his head, and rested one broad hand on Rick’s belly for a moment, a point of warmth that made Rick realize how cold he’d become. “We’ll be fine,” he insisted. “We can slow down a little.

Rick put his own hand over Daryl’s, nodded in return, and forced himself to take a step back. Daryl watched him for a second, but didn’t say anything. He just retrieved his squirrels, and took point. Carl touched Rick’s arm, then jogged up to join him.

At the slower pace, and with Daryl’s confirmation that they were clear, the mood lightened. Rick ended up walking a little behind Tyreese, watching Judith resting in his backpack. Tyreese was watching Sasha and Bob, who were playing that word game again. Rick couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Sasha was laughing at whatever Bob was saying, and leaned in when he went to kiss her. 

Suddenly they heard screams.

Rick jolted to a halt, reflexively jerking up one arm in their signal for ‘hold.’ It was a single voice, frantic, and Carl was already moving toward it.

“Dad, come on,” he said, urgent but low. “Come on!”

Daryl moved to follow, and Rick let out a frustrated huff, followed after.

Just a few hundred yards away they came upon a single boulder, seven feet high, with a black man dressed all in black cowering on top of it. He was surrounded by three walkers, and Rick almost couldn’t understand what the man was doing up there.

Daryl, Bob and Abraham took out the walkers in moments, using knives and the butts of their guns, and Rick moved forward as the man slid down from the rock. 

“You okay?” he asked. The others backed up a little, even Abraham, letting Rick take the lead.

“Yes, thank you.” The man paused. His face twisted, and he suddenly leaned over and vomited a thin stream of water and bile. Rick just waited for a moment. “I’m Gabriel,” the man said, straightening up, and Rick saw that his all-black outfit came complete with a priest’s collar.

“Do you have any weapons on you?”

Gabriel laughed a little. “Do I look like I would have any weapons?” He kept looking around at the others, as if hoping one of them would step in.

“We don’t give two short and curlies what it looks like,” Abraham said loudly, staying back.

Gabriel swallowed. “I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need.”

“Sure didn’t look like it,” Daryl said. Rick picked up on Daryl’s instant hostility, and peered suspiciously at the preacher.

“I called for help.” Gabriel looked around again, spreading his hands in a sort of pious gesture. “Help came.”

Rick looked to Daryl, who nodded just a fraction.

Gabriel either missed the byplay, or missed what it meant, because he kept talking. “Do you have any food? Whatever I had left, it just hit the ground.”

Rick just stared at the man. His head was still hurting, and through the pain the man’s words seemed strangely dislocated, out of place. When he didn’t answer, Carl stepped forward, pulling something out of his pocket. “We’ve got some pecans,” he said, extending his hand and not, Rick noticed, mentioning any of their other supplies.

Gabriel took them with a smile that, to Rick, seemed odd. “Thank you,” Gabriel said, taking the handful of nuts. He looked at something over Judith’s shoulder, and the smile stretched a little. “That’s a beautiful child.”

Rick’s gut clenched, hard. Something wasn’t right.

“Do you have a camp?” Rick asked, his right hand twitching a little where it rested near his gun. Gabriel said no, but something made Rick push him. “Do you?”

“I have a church,” Gabriel said, kind of laughing, and Rick just did not know what to make of this man.

“Hold your hands above your head,” he snapped, and Gabriel’s arms flew up. Daryl started frisking the odd priest, and Rick started asking the questions. “How many walkers have you killed?”

“Not any, actually,” Gabriel said, watching Daryl more than Rick.

The answer felt strange to Rick, wrong. “How many people have you killed?” 

“None!” Gabriel insisted. 

But again, it rang false, and Rick frowned. “What have you done?” Gabriel didn’t answer, and Rick tried to sound understanding, sympathetic. “We’ve all done something.”

“I’m a sinner.” Gabriel laughed that strange little chuckle again. “I sin almost every day. But those sins, I confess them to God, not strangers.”

Rick studied him for a long moment, and Gabriel looked nervous, his eyes shifting minutely as he tried to hold Rick’s gaze but also keep everyone else in sight. 

From behind Gabriel, Daryl gave Rick a quick nod, and Rick sighed. His fingers, near his gun, worked against each other. Against his better judgment, he said, “You said you have a church?”

“Yes!” Gabriel said eagerly. “Yes, I can take you there.”

Rick nodded. “Alright, let’s go.”

Gabriel led them a little further through the forest. It was beginning to thin out, and Rick sped up a little to walk just behind the priest, forcing his stiff legs to push him forward. Daryl moved up with him, and Rick knew that Daryl had his back.

And suddenly he thought of Daryl’s earlier feeling. He wouldn’t take a gut feeling from most people, but he trusted Daryl, who had a feel for the woods. If he thought someone had been watching them, someone probably had been.

“Hey,” he said, coming up behind Gabriel, Daryl at his heels. “Earlier, were you watching us?”

Gabriel didn’t look back. “I keep to myself,” he said, still walking straight and steady. “Nowadays, people are just as dangerous as the dead, don’t you think?”

“No,” Rick said, almost to himself, thinking of Terminus, the Governor, every asshole they’d had to kill. 

Daryl agreed, “People are worse.”

“Well, I wasn’t watching you,” Gabriel said, sounding huffy. “I haven’t been beyond the stream near my church more than a few times since it all started.”

Rick slowed just a bit, so that he followed a few feet behind Gabriel. His hand was on the butt of his Python. He didn’t remember putting it there. Something was wrong.

“That was the furthest I’ve gone before today,” Gabriel continued, oblivious to the wave of wrongness sweeping up Rick’s spine. “Or maybe I’m lying.” Gabriel was laughing again, that weird, off-putting laugh. A flicker of white, somewhere off in the trees, caught Rick’s eye. Gabriel continued, “Maybe I’m lying about everything and there’s no church ahead at all. Maybe I’m leading you into a trap so I can steal all your—”

His head exploded in a shower of gore.

“Rick!” Daryl yelled, grabbing his arm.

His arm had been extended. His gun was in his hand. He looked down at it, rotating the gun slightly to one side as if to see it better.

His ears were ringing from the sound of the shot.

He couldn’t see the white shape anymore.

Everyone rushed forward, someone checking on the body, most keeping their distance.

“What the hell, man?” someone said. Rick was losing track.

Daryl gently, very gently, pried the gun from Rick’s hand.

“He said,” Rick began. He was shaking. “He said he was gonna—”

Daryl shushed him, pulling him a few steps back with an arm across his chest.

There was yelling. Rick couldn’t make it out. The adrenaline that had swept through him with Gabriel’s threat washed out so abruptly he felt limp with it, almost swaying on his feet. “He said he was,” he tried to tell Daryl, only to be shushed again. “I thought—”

“You thought he was a threat,” Michonne said, suddenly so close that Rick stumbled to a stop. Daryl caught him, steadied him. “So you acted,” Michonne continued, trying to catch Rick’s gaze. “That’s all. He was a threat.”

“You crazy son of a bitch,” someone was saying loudly in the background. Rick’s hand was shaking. He tried to raise it up, to look at it. Daryl caught his hand and forced it back down to his side, pulling Rick tighter against him. Daryl wasn’t taller, but he was built more solidly than Rick, and he felt strong and sturdy against Rick’s back, like Rick could be safe there.

Michonne hissed at something over Rick’s shoulder, then met his eyes again, putting one hand to the side of his head, just beneath the bullet crease. “You thought he was a threat.”

Rick nodded, feeling her hand move with his head, Daryl warm against his back. “He said he was gonna lead us into a trap,” Rick said. His hands were shaking. 

“You did the right thing,” Carl said. Rick hadn’t noticed his son approaching, and he had trouble looking at him. “If he was dangerous, dad, then you did the right thing.”

Rick looked around, almost aimlessly. He felt like he couldn’t focus his eyes properly. Some of the others were nodding, Bob and Sasha, even Abraham looked mollified by the explanation. But it was Carol’s face he fixed on.

She looked like she _understood_.

And suddenly _he_ understood exactly what he’d done to her by sending her away.

“Shit,” he said, and tried to step back.

“Hey,” Daryl said, catching him easily. “Hey, man, it’s okay.” Rick was shaking his head, but Daryl kept going. “You did the right thing.”

“It’s not that,” Rick gasped. “It’s, I didn’t, I…” He was still looking at Carol. He couldn’t force the words out.

When it became clear he wouldn’t be able to finish, Daryl turned him slightly so that they were facing each other, and put his broad hand on Rick’s cheek, where Michonne’s had been a moment before, and tilted Rick’s head to one side, ducking down a little, trying to catch Rick’s gaze. “Rick?” Daryl patted his face a little, and Rick breathed, looked at him. “Rick, you okay?”

Rick opened his mouth, but he was lost in his thoughts, and nothing came out.

“What should we do now?” Glenn said, stepping closer and speaking quietly. “Should we keep going to that town?”

“We’re losing the light, now,” Abraham snapped. “Son of a fuck-ugly goat.”

Rick couldn’t think. He’d just killed a priest. Oh god, what if he’d been wrong?

Daryl pulled away a little, and said, “That guy mentioned a creek. I can scout ahead, find his church, make sure it’s clear.”

“Not alone,” Rick barked, suddenly clearer. “Not by yourself.”

“I’ll go with him,” Michonne said.

Glenn nodded, shifting his rifle. “I’ll go, too. With three of us, we can check all sides.”

Rick nodded, slowly. Judith and Carl would be safe if Tyreese and Carol stayed. He trusted them, even if Abraham still set his teeth on edge. “Alright, that’s a plan,” he said, and turned to go.

“Woah, where do you think you’re going?” Glenn said, jogging up to get in front of him.

Rick tilted his head, confused. “With you all, to check out the church.”

“Rick, we’re going so you don’t have to,” Michonne said patiently. 

“But I—”

“You ain’t going,” Daryl said, tugging him back with one strong hand. 

“You’re in no shape for this,” Michonne agreed, touching his arm. “Let us do this.”

Rick couldn’t explain it. He needed to move. He needed to do something for the group.

He looked to Daryl, and Daryl was glaring at him, so fiercely he had trouble meeting the other man’s eyes.

He wanted to argue. He wanted to be well enough to lead them properly. 

But Daryl didn’t think he was.

God, his head hurt.

If he was honest with himself, he really wasn’t. 

“Be careful,” he told them, and watched them go, and stared after them for a long time after they’d disappeared into the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a fit of paranoia, Rick kills Gabriel when he makes the joke about stealing their squirrels. Sorry, Gabriel.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the others aren't sure about Rick's choice, but they all finally get a chance to rest.

After a few long moments of staring blankly through the trees, Rick felt a touch on his arm. He looked down, saw Carl peering at him, worried.

“They’re gonna be okay, dad,” he insisted. “Just sit down for a while.”

Rick nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said. Carl tugged on his arm, and he let his son lead him a few feet to sit with his back against a tree trunk. Carl crouched next to him, still holding his gun.

Tyreese joined them after a few moments, sitting beneath a tree just a few feet away. He’d taken Judith out of her carrier, and held her in his arms, making funny faces while she giggled softly.

She was always so quiet, Judith. Rick watched them, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth even through the throbbing in his head. Sasha and Bob came over, Sasha poking at the baby with an adoring look on her face only matched by the adoring look on Bob’s face as he watched her. Carol stood watch from a few feet behind them, looking distant and lonely even though she was so close to the group. He should talk to her, let her know that he understood now, really understood. He owed her an apology. He owed her everything. 

Maggie and Tara were huddled together, and Abraham herded his people to stand a little further away. The three strangers were talking in low voices, and occasionally one of them would look over at Rick. 

“Want a pecan?” Carl asked, shoving a couple of nuts into Rick’s hand.

Rick startled a little, but accepted the offering, forced himself to chew. Every time he swallowed Carl forced some other small bit of something on him – half a bag of peanuts. A piece of beef jerky. A granola bar gone stiff and hard to chew from melting and hardening over and over again.

Rick chewed on the granola bar slowly, forcing his way through it. The movement of his jaw seemed to scrape the tendons in his temples together, tightening his brow with pain. His eyes closed, almost against his will, and without something concrete to do all he could think about was Terminus, and what he’d done at Terminus, and what he’d just done to a _priest_. 

Carl had been scared of him, after he’d ripped out the throat of a man who’d been trying to kill them. His son was putting a brave face on it, but he must be terrified after seeing Rick shoot an unarmed man.

Rick’s chewing slowed. There was just a stub left of the granola bar. He swallowed another small bite, feeling it scrape all the way down his throat like it was trying to escape.

What if he’d been wrong?

The wind shifted a little, and snippets of Abraham’s conversation drifted over.

“… saying he’s unstable!” Abraham finished, his voice rising with his temper.

Rosita said something, quieter, trying to calm him. Carl stiffened, and Rick felt shame curl through his belly. He couldn’t keep chewing this damn thing anyway, he thought, letting the bar fall to his lap.

“He’s wrong,” Carl said softly, peering at him from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Maybe,” Rick said. He knew Abraham was right. He was a monster.

“We need to be headed to Washington,” Abraham bellowed, clearly no longer caring who heard. 

“And we will!” Rosita yelled. “But we need more people, and you know it.”

Abraham looked stymied for a moment, his mustache compressed from the force of his frown. Rick tried not to react, holding himself still like that would make him invisible, and when Maggie stirred a bit Rick shook his head, once, and she settled back down beside Tara, wearing a frown of her own.

Things might have gotten ugly, but just then Daryl emerged from the trees, making just enough noise to avoid getting shot.

Tension broke, and everyone crowded in a little closer. “How’s it look?” Rick asked, not moving just yet.

Daryl nodded. “Looks pretty good. Door’s locked, but I didn’t hear no one inside.”

“Bet the priest had a key,” Rosita said, trotting back toward the corpse.

“It’ll do for now,” Daryl continued, eyeing Rick carefully. Rick felt warmed by his concern, even though he didn’t deserve it.

After a moment, Rick nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s go to church.”

A few of the others chuckled at that. Daryl walked through them, edging away from Abraham, and coming over to offer Rick his hand. Rick took it, and was pulled easily to his feet. Daryl held him there for a moment, and Rick paused, cocking his head to one side in question.

Whatever he’d been looking for, Daryl seemed satisfied, for he released Rick’s hand and turned to go without another word. Rick watched his back, mouth open slightly but a sound never emerged.

Carl nudged his arm. “Come on, dad,” he said, and Rick forced himself to start moving.

The church really wasn’t far away. It was a small wooden building, painted a faded white, with a fairly high steeple and slatted wooden shutters all around the sides that had been nailed shut. The big front doors looked sturdy enough to hold off a herd of walkers, and Rick started to realize how the preacher had survived all this time.

Michonne was sitting on the church steps, a small Mona Lisa smile just barely pulling at her lips, her katana balanced across her knees. Rick waved to her, and she stood up to greet them.

“Everything looking good?” Bob asked, stepping up beside Sasha.

“So far,” Michonne said, still smiling a little. “Just need to check inside.”

“We found the key,” Rosita said, jogging up ahead of the group with the key clutched firmly in her hand. Michonne took it from her and climbed up the steps to unlock the door. Carol was standing away from everyone, watching the edge of the woods. Rosita went back to Eugene; he said something, and together they walked around the side of the church.

The doors were heavy, and Michonne struggled to get one open. Sasha ran up to help her, and then they ducked inside to sweep the church’s interior. 

“This could be good for us,” Tyreese said, stopping close to Rick. Bob was watching the church doors anxiously, and Rick tried to keep his eye on their perimeter.

But at Tyreese’s words, Rick looked at the side of his face, which gazed steadily at the church doors, and at Judith in his arms. “It could be, yeah.” 

“Long as it ain’t for too long,” Abraham said, startling Rick, who hadn’t heard him approach. 

“Just long enough to get some supplies,” Rick muttered, feeling badgered as the much taller man loomed up over his right shoulder. 

“That’s a beautiful baby,” Abraham said. Rick bristled, but Abraham continued, “and we’re doing this for her most of all. Making a better world.”

Rick nodded. The man had a point. And his judgment was so compromised. Who was to say what the best decision would be for all of them?

“There’s a bus!” a woman’s voice called, joyful and sudden. The sound made Rick jump, and his head swum a little. Tyreese caught his arm as Rosita jogged back around the corner of the church, face transformed by a bright grin. “We’re gonna be okay, there’s a bus.”

Abraham looked electrified. “Does it run?”

She slowed as she got closer, shook her head. “No, but Eugene says he can fix it.”

“He’s alone back there?” Abraham demanded, starting forward.

“No, he’s with Glenn, Maggie and Tara,” Rosita said, looking almost offended. “I wouldn’t have left him alone. You know that.”

Abraham shrugged, not apologizing.

“They’ll look after him. Glenn’s a good man, Maggie’s a damn good fighter,” Rick said. He leaned into Tyreese’s hand. He couldn’t think of anything to say about Tara, didn’t know enough about her. The world seemed to swirl slowly around him. 

“Of that I have no doubt, Officer,” Abraham growled, and walked without a further word toward the back of the church.

Rosita looked at him apologetically, then followed.

“I have no doubt where her loyalties lie,” Tyreese said, watching them go. Judith gurgled, and Rick pulled away to look at her.

“Can’t blame her for that,” Rick sighed, chucking his daughter under the chin. Her skin was incredibly soft against his roughened fingers.

“Yeah, I guess,” Tyreese said grudgingly. After a moment he stirred, bouncing Judith a little in his arms. “I’m going to take her out of the sun,” he said, starting up the church steps. “You coming?”

“In a minute,” Rick said. Tyreese went up the steps, and Carol followed him. Bob waited for a second, looking at Rick, but then ran up after them.

Carl had walked up to the side of the church, and was studying one of the shutters with unusual concentration. Rick watched him for a moment, then slowly made his way over to his son’s side. They peered at the shutter together for a moment. There were gashes in the wood, and Rick couldn't help but think they looked like knife marks.

“What do you think happened here?” Carl asked. He reached up and spread his fingers across one of the marks. They were deep gouges, splintery and raw.

“I don’t know,” Rick said slowly. He stepped back, tried to take in the bigger picture. The same scratch marks could be found all down the side of the church, mostly around the windows but also at the same height along the walls. “Maybe he locked up the shutters, and that big door, and someone tried to get in.”

“Walkers?” Carl asked, sounding doubtful.

“People, probably,” Rick murmured. People could be driven to all sorts of extremity in this new world. “Let’s, um, get back to the others.”

They went inside together. Carl was steadying him with a grip on his elbow, but was also trying to hide that he was doing it using Rick’s blanket poncho as cover. Rick knew he needed to pull himself together, prove to the group that he could hold his own. If only his damn head would stop hurting.

The others started gathering in the church. It was a strange place, light and airy but stinking of rotting food. The rows of pews marched up to an altar, and behind it rows and rows of empty cans lined the back wall, beneath a simple stained glass window that tinged the light purple and green. There were framed pictures and bible verses hung on all the walls, and a wooden plaque with bible verses numbered in rows. 

A bible verse was painted in red, the letters bright on the cream walls, across the arch above the altar: “He who eats My Flesh and drinks My Blood has Eternal Life.”

Rick shuddered to see it.

“We should be able to fix that bus in a day or two,” Abraham said, walking up to Rick. Glenn and Michonne, near him, stepped a little closer to Rick. “Looks like we can get moving.”

Rick didn’t answer, looking to Judith where she rested in Carl’s arms.

“You understand what’s at stake here, right?” Abraham said, taking a step toward him.

“Yes, I do,” Rick said, his right eye twitching just a little. If the pain would just stop, and he could think…

Michonne stepped forward so that she stood between Rick and Abraham. “Now that we can take a breath...” she began.

Abraham cut her off. “We take a breath, we slow down, shit inevitably goes down.”

“We need supplies,” she retorted. “Whatever we do next.”

“That’s right,” Rick said, moving further into the church. “Food, water, ammunition.”

Abraham didn’t say anything or call him back, and he heard Daryl saying, “Short bus ain’t going anywhere,” and then he was following Rick.

It wasn’t so large a space that he didn’t hear what happened next, as first Glenn, then Maggie, Tara, Bob and Sasha affirmed their decisions to follow Rick’s lead. And as each one spoke up, Rick’s chest filled up with relief.

They did trust him. And damn that was good to know.

He just wasn’t sure if they should.

Rick sat down heavily on one of the pews, but was chivvied back up almost immediately by Maggie, who was leading a small crew in getting the pews arranged in a large circle. Rick tried to help for a moment, only to be pushed off to the side. Daryl had wandered back outside, and from the smell was starting to cook those squirrels. Everyone else was starting to settle inside the circle, passing around things they’d found earlier at the pile-up on the highway. The priest hadn’t had any food, just all those empty cans, so he hadn’t been lying about that, but he’d had water, jugs of it, and those got passed around as well.

The atmosphere was a lot lighter than it had been the last couple of times they had stopped. After a short wait, Daryl brought in the fresh meat. There wasn’t much of it, probably half a squirrel per person, but everyone greeted the hunter with a smile and a slap on the back or a word of thanks. Even Abraham lightened up a little.

Daryl came over to Rick last, sitting beside him on the pew and handing him a handful of warm, greasy meat. Rick looked down at it. He needed to get over himself. He needed to eat, to recover and stop being such a drag on everyone else.

“I’ve got some more pecans,” Carl said, settling on Rick’s other side. 

“No,” Rick murmured. “We should save those.” And raised his hand to his mouth. 

The meat felt slippery against his lips, tepid now and tough. Slivers had to be shredded off with his teeth and fingers, and it was hard to chew. 

He tried to focus on the taste, to remember what it was. 

It was a squirrel. He’d seen its body. 

He hadn’t seen it cooked but he trusted Daryl. 

He did.

He gagged, swallowed, gagged again, forced it down. The meat scraped down his throat, and he coughed roughly.

Daryl was watching him, not even trying to hide it. 

Rick couldn’t look up. His gaze was fixed on the bit of meat still left in his hand. He swallowed.

“Here,” Carl said softly, passing him a bottle of water. Its sides were still damp where it had been refilled by an unsteady hand. Rick rubbed the moisture between his fingers, then took a small sip.

He kept it down, and a little more besides, and Daryl tugged at him until he was leaning against Daryl’s strong shoulder, feeling his warmth through the blanket poncho. 

“You need anything re-bandaged?” Daryl asked, keeping his voice low -- so the others wouldn’t hear, Rick thought.

“I think I’m okay,” he said, and his voice was barely more than a sigh.

“What about that bullet hole in your leg?” Carl said. “Or your ribs?”

Rick had almost forgotten about the healing wound in his thigh. How many days had it been since the fight at the prison? He’d lost track. And then the fresher hurts from Terminus had just about driven it from his mind. He looked down at the wound, or where it must be beneath his grimy jeans, and shook his head. “I think it’s fine for now.” He paused, and Daryl prodded the area gently with one finger. “Don’t hurt none.”

“We should check it tomorrow,” Daryl said consideringly. “And I don’t like the look of that crease at your temple.”

The skin at his temple still stung, and he thought for a moment that he should say something, get it re-bandaged.

Except the longer he was able to sit still, the less his head throbbed, the pain slowing and softening like a beast curling up to sleep. 

When he didn’t answer, Daryl murmured, “Get some sleep,” and Rick, feeling warm and full and surrounded by people he could trust, let himself drift off.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick finally gets some much-needed TLC, but there is trouble on the horizon.

His first awareness was of voices.

“We need more water,” someone was saying, and Rick blinked his eyes open.

The sun had come up, just barely. The light in the church was dim, and gray, and at some point in the night he’d been moved to lie on his side on the pew, the blanket poncho draped over him and someone’s jacket balled up beneath his head. The position put a little pressure on his sore ribs, but it was nice to stretch out.

He shifted, and turned to see what was going on.

Near the partially open door, standing in the narrow ribbon of light let in, Daryl and Carol were arguing with Abraham. “We have plenty for now,” Abraham said, his voice rising enough finally that Rick could hear.

Daryl wasn’t facing Abraham straight on, his shoulders tilted to one side, the way he got when he approached a threat, and Rick tried to pull himself up.

And the world vanished.

“We’re going,” Carol was saying flatly. 

Rick wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. 

He’d been pulling on the back of the pew, but now he was flat on his back staring up at the ceiling of the church. The light shafting in through the slats in the shutters cast odd shadows across its white arches. His head felt strangely heavy. He stayed still for a moment, just breathing.

When he got his head back up, Abraham was looking frustrated, his mustache crumpled up, but he nodded after a moment. “Get back quick,” he said, threateningly. “I want to get that bus running and get out of here.”

“Whatever,” Daryl said, and he slipped through the front doors, Carol right behind him. Abraham stared after them for a moment, then followed after, closing the door as he went.

Rick pried himself upright, and was startled to see Michonne crouched behind the pew where he’d been lying, her eyes hard.

“Don’t say anything,” she hissed as soon as she saw him.

“What’s going on?” he breathed.

“Not sure.” She wasn’t looking at him, but to where Abraham had followed their friends outside. “Something to do with the bus.”

“Well, is it even running?” Rick’s head was hurting, and he couldn’t quite work out the different angles, or why Michonne was so worried. 

“Not yet.” She frowned, and finally looked up at him. “I just have a bad feeling.”

“Like they’d leave without us at the first opportunity?” he said dryly.

She snorted, but nodded in agreement. 

Rick thought for a moment. “What do you think about that cure they were talking about? Glenn seems to think it’s the real thing.”

She looked pensive, and he felt a strange anxiety growing behind his breastbone.

“Isn’t it worth it to find out if it’s real?” 

Rick had to think about that. 

After that brief moment of hope when they had found a single scientist at the CDC researching the virus and seeking a cure, only to learn he’d given into despair after determining they were all already infected, Rick was almost scared to hope again. Why should DC be any more certain than Atlanta? Any less dangerous? Any more secure? 

A small voice broke the stillness, startling Rick. 

“I think we should try,” Carl said, sitting up. “I think we have to try.”

Rick sighed, realizing his son had heard all that. “It could be a wild goose chase.”

“Or it could be legit,” Michonne said, smiling a little.

Across the room, Eugene stirred, and Rosita, who was lying near him, shot upright, always on guard. Rick bit his lip, wondering if they’d overheard everything, too.

“It might depend on that bus,” Michonne said, voice low enough that they surely wouldn’t be able to hear. “I’ll keep an eye on how it’s going.” 

The others were starting to stir, Maggie and Glenn leading Tara over to the supplies, Tyreese sitting up and immediately clocking Sasha’s location curled up by Bob, and relaxing back into his bedroll, Rosita on her feet now and saying something to Eugene. It was getting a touch noisy, but in a good way, all signs of life, and Rick realized he was smiling.

He ran a hand over his beard, and grimaced at the feel of it, still stiff with dried blood and who knows what else from Terminus. Daryl had cleaned it a little, but he wasn’t sure it could get really clean after letting the gore dry in it for so long.

Michonne caught the gesture, and her mouth tilted into a frown.

“That’s getting kind of unsanitary,” she said, and brought a hand up to hover near his temple. “And this bandage is nasty.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Need to wash this blood out, but we shouldn’t waste the water.”

“Is that what that is?” Carl asked, sounding a little too fascinated for Rick’s sense of comfort.

“Yeah, from, uh, Terminus,” he admitted, touching a particularly stiff clump. He tried to tug at the mess, but it seemed firmly attached to his face.

“We might have to cut it out,” Michonne said. She looked worried.

“Yeah,” Rick said. Maybe she was right to be worried. “Maybe we should.” 

“I’ll get some scissors,” Michonne said, patting his arm as she stood up.

“Dad?” Carl asked after she was gone.

“Yeah?”

“What really happened?” Carl asked, his voice small. “In Terminus?”

Rick swallowed. Carl wouldn’t look up at him.

He didn’t know what to say.

Carl had already been afraid of him before. What would he say if he knew the truth?

“Carl,” he started slowly. “It’s, um.” 

Carl tilted his head to one side, still not looking at him, waiting patiently.

“I don’t think …” Rick began. His breath was coming faster. 

“It’s okay,” Carl said after a length of silence. “You don’t have to tell me.” But he looked disappointed.

“It wasn’t something you should have to hear about,” Rick managed.

Carl looked up. His eyes were clear. “You should talk to someone, though.”

Rick thought of Daryl, who at least knew part of it. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’d be okay,” Carl said. “We’re safe here. You can talk about stuff.”

That feeling in his chest ballooned out, an overwhelming sense of danger. “Carl, there’s. There’s something I need to tell you, and I need you to listen.”

Carl nodded seriously. “Okay.”

“You are not safe.” Rick swallowed. “No matter how many other people are around, or how clear the area looks, no matter what anyone says, you are not safe.”

“Dad, I get it,” Carl started to say.

“It only takes one second,” Rick said, his voice rising a little. “One second, and it’s over. Never let your guard down, ever.” He ran a hand over his face, that sense of danger pressing down on him. “Promise me,” he said, looking at Carl again.

“I promise,” Carl said immediately.

“Okay,” Rick sighed, relieved.

“But dad,” Carl said, his voice very steady. “You’re right, we should be careful. Terminus was …” He couldn’t finish, and Rick started to look away. “But we’re strong,” Carl said. “Strong enough that we can still help people.”

“That preacher,” Rick started.

Carl shook his head, cutting him off. “I know. He was a threat. But … dad, we’re strong enough that we don’t have to be afraid. And we don’t have to hide.”

Rick wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d known, he’d _known_ that the priest had been hiding something, and was probably up to something. Carl kept agreeing with what he’d done, but was this talk …. What, heading off future murders? Was that what his son thought of him?

Fortunately Michonne returned before he had to think of an answer.

“You want me to do it?” she asked, sitting next to him. Her presence broke the solemn mood stirred up by their conversation; Carl sat back, casually asking Michonne something, and Rick felt a little easier.

“I can do it,” he said, taking the small scissors from her. She watched him run his fingers through his beard, pulling any clumps he found away from his skin and trimming them out.

After a few clumps, Carl started to snicker softly to himself. Rick closed the scissors again, letting the mess of hair and dried blood drift down to the floor. Michonne was smirking now.

“That bad?” he asked.

“Patchy,” Carl said, wrinkling his nose. Rick thought Carl might be trying to lighten the mood, and went with it, smiling a little himself.

“I’ll clean it up for you,” Michonne offered.

“Maybe you’d better,” he said, and handed her the scissors. She pushed him to lean back against the back of the pew, and he closed his eyes as she worked on his beard.

Some of the others started to wander outside, singly or a few at a time, Rosita and Eugene noisy as they left, announcing their plans to work on the bus, Glenn bouncing up and telling them to wait for him. Rick's head was full with Carl’s words. He couldn’t stop worrying at them, turning them over in his head. Thinking what they might mean. 

But Michonne was careful, and the scissors barely pulled, and Rick let his thoughts grow quiet, let himself be lulled into a sort of daze, slowly losing track of where everyone was going, letting Michonne maneuver him this way and that as she worked. 

Just a few minutes later, Michonne ran one hand over his cheek, as if to check the length of the remaining hair, and patted the side of his face gently.

“All done?” he asked, blinking his eyes open.

“You look a lot better,” Carl assured him, looking up from Judith. Rick tried to smile at them, felt it a wavering thing that made Carl look a little worried.

“Much better,” Michonne agreed. She poured just a little water on a clean rag, and starting running it over the freshly trimmed stubble. The water felt good on his skin, and his eyes fluttered shut again, just resting his eyes as she soaked the bandage at his temple. After a few minutes she was able to pull it off with just a tug. He winced. 

“This is pretty bad,” she said, dabbing at the wound with a clean cloth. The cool water dripped down his face, and it felt good on his skin.

“It’s not too bad,” he murmured. He hadn’t seen the wound, but if it had been much worse, he probably wouldn’t be talking right now.

That was a hell of a standard, he knew, but it was all they had.

After tying off the new bandage, she paused, peered at him for a moment when he blinked his eyes open, and said, “I think you should get some more rest.”

“I’m okay,” he tried to protest, as Michonne raised one eyebrow. 

“You’re still hurt,” Carl said firmly, additional meaning behind his words that Rick did not want to draw attention to.

“I’m better, anyway,” Rick argued, trying to keep his voice down so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Are you still dizzy?” Michonne asked.

“I never said I was dizzy…”

“You didn’t have to, dad.”

Rick swallowed. Carl must think he was too weak to take care of himself. Maybe that’s what he’d been saying.

“There’s a sofa in the rectory,” Michonne said, with a note of finality in her voice. “You need to lie down.” As he still looked stubborn, her mouth twisted into a frustrated line. “At least until Daryl and Carol get back,” she bargained.

Rick sighed. He honestly wasn’t feeling very good, but he didn’t want to admit how easy it would be to knock him over right now. “Maybe a couple more hours wouldn’t hurt.”

“That’s the spirit,” Michonne said dryly. She stood up easily, and held out one hand.

He looked up at her, then to her hand. Sighed. Let her help him up. “Just a couple of hours,” he insisted.

“You got it,” Carl said brightly, hefting Judith into his arms and leading the way to the rectory.

“I don’t know if he’s being entirely sincere,” Rick murmured to Michonne, and was rewarded with a low chuckle and a quick smile as she pulled him forward.

He probably could have made it without her help, but he wasn’t up to forcing the issue. Which, he had to admit, might be a sign that she was right.

The preacher had set up a sort of bed on a nice looking couch in the rectory, with blankets and a decorative pillow that looked pretty comfortable. Looking down at it, it almost seemed too far away, and Rick felt himself swaying a little. 

“Here, let me help,” Michonne said softly, and taking his arm helped him down onto the soft couch. He fell to one side, laying flat and groaning with the luxury of it, the cushions gentle on his aching limbs.

“We’ll stay in here with you,” Carl offered, shifting Judith as he sat down. 

“Okay,” Rick said slowly. At least Carl wasn’t avoiding him, like before. 

He was blinking, and the black space between blinks seemed to increase each time. The last he saw, Michonne was covering him in a blanket, and he thought for a moment that he should probably drink something but even that thought felt very slow and difficult and he thought he tried to say something but maybe he didn’t.

Everything sounded very far away, but he could hear the others talking in low voices. 

“He’s in bad shape, isn’t he,” Carl was saying. His son sounded scared, and Rick wanted to reassure him. But there was a space between the thought and the action, and he couldn’t seem to cross it.

“I’m not sure he ever recovered from the prison,” Michonne was saying. She didn’t sound scared, but then Rick thought maybe he didn’t know what that would sound like. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her really scared before. “And then whatever happened at Terminus…”

“It must have been really bad,” Carl whispered. “And we just left him there.”

“Hey,” Michonne said. “It wasn’t your fault. We didn’t know.” And Rick wanted to kiss her for doing what he couldn’t.

“I guess,” Carl said. He didn’t sound totally convinced.

Michonne said something after that. Rick could hear their voices for a time, but couldn’t make out the words, and eventually even that faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These comments are giving me life, plz more!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gets a little more rest while Glenn leads the others into town for supplies, and he and Bob have a talk.

The next time he woke he felt a little better. A little steadier, anyway. 

By the cast of the light, it was midday, so Michonne had let him sleep more than a couple of hours. He was almost annoyed, but he was feeling less shaky, so maybe she’s been right to leave him be. The little rectory was empty except for him. Carl must have gotten bored, and taken Judith to spend time with the others. 

Rick rubbed a hand over his beard. It felt weirdly short, not what he was used to anymore, but at least it wasn’t crusty with dried blood. His mouth was so dry it felt sticky, and when he tried to wet his lips, nothing happened. He needed water. He waited for a moment, comfortable for the first time in a long time on the lumpy sofa, but he didn’t hear anything and no one came in, and he felt driven to get up and see what was going on.

It took a minute to climb to his feet, and once there he swayed a bit and had to catch himself on the back of the couch. He lurched a little, the sharp movement tugging on his ribs, and too late to stop he noticed the bottle of water on the floor by his feet. 

He smiled ruefully down at the bottle, feeling a little foolish for not checking, for not thinking they’d take care of him, and lowered himself carefully back to sitting. The first sip of warm water was like heaven, and he drained the rest in just a couple of gulps. 

He lowered the empty bottle, licking his dry lips. His mouth still felt sort of sticky, and he thought he might be pretty badly dehydrated. 

With his head a little clearer, the rectory began to look more interesting to him. There was a wooden chair by the couch, right up against the wall, with a cushion in it and what he thought might be Michonne’s vest draped over the back. There was a window on the other side of the couch, but with the shutters closed not much light made it in, and the room was quite dim even with the afternoon light creeping in. Next to the wooden chair there was a lamp, which wouldn’t work now of course, and then a book shelf. 

Rick leveraged himself up, and shuffled over to the bookshelf, holding the edge of it as he wavered. 

There weren’t many books left. Rick picked one up, but it was just the cover and a few pages, and Rick figured out that the odd priest must have been using the pages for kindling. There were also a couple of cans stacked by the few remaining books, but they were empty. Rick wandered over to a desk near one wall, across from the couch, still cluttered with papers and files and office equipment, staplers and tape holster things. An idle sort of curiosity had him rummaging through the papers; they looked normal enough, lists of tithes, membership roles, a colored sheet of paper advertising a summer bible camp. Part of him wondered why these papers hadn’t been burned first.

Under a flyer about a canned food drive, Rick found a picture of a woman. She was pretty, black like the preacher had been, wearing a nice cardigan and a gold cross. And for a moment it made sense to him. Love could make a man do all kinds of things.

In the silence of the afternoon, he suddenly heard voices, muffled and distant, coming from somewhere outside the chapel. Pulling himself together, he started toward the door. He wasn’t wearing shoes, he noticed somewhat belatedly. Someone had removed his boots, and socks, and the wood floor was cool against his bare feet. 

He carried the empty water bottle with him, and padded in his bare feet through the chapel, past the circled up pews, noticing the piles of their belongings and the absence of any other living person. That left him feeling slightly uneasy, and he headed toward the big main doors with anxiety unfolding in his gut.

With one hand, he tried to leverage open the big front door that they’d been using. It didn’t budge. He put his shoulder into it, bracing his feet and straining to pull the door inward. The bar wasn’t up, he didn’t think they would lock him in, but it just wasn’t moving.

Suddenly there was a shout from outside.

Rick panicked. The empty water bottle dropped to the floor with a clatter, but he didn’t notice, wrenching at the door now with both hands. He yanked at it, throwing his whole body into the motion, then again.

It popped open suddenly, sending him staggering back a few steps. God, he felt winded just from that. He paused, hand clutching at his chest just over his heart.

He went out more slowly than he might have, right arm held tight in against his side like a brace.

A few of the others were out enjoying the sunshine and the light breeze that had sprung up sometime in the afternoon. Judith was on a blanket on the ground, surrounded by people who would do anything to keep her safe, and Rick was able to convince himself there wasn't any danger. He watched them for a little while from the doorway, waiting for his heartbeat to slow to something reasonable, before making his way carefully down the steps.

“Dad, you’re up!” Carl said, jumping quickly to his feet.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, feeling better,” Rick said, looking around. “Where is everybody?”

Carl ran up to him like he might offer Rick a hand, but only hovered nearby as Rick crossed the yard. “Mostly fixing that bus out back,” he said. “Bob and Sasha are on watch, and we’re … here.”

Maggie waved to Rick as he approached, and Tyreese gave him a nod. “Where’s Glenn?” he asked. His bare feet were becoming chilled by the cold ground, and he shifted restlessly.

“With Abraham and those others, working on the bus,” Maggie told him. Tara nodded as if in confirmation.

“And Daryl?” He didn’t see Carol either.

“He’s still out with Carol, looking for water.”

“Oh, okay,” Rick said, and a bit of worry began to niggle at him.

Just then he heard the shouting again, and he turned toward it sharply. 

“It’s just Abraham,” Carl said, shrugging.

Rick’s heart was still hammering. “He been doing that long?”

“All morning,” Tyreese said, frowning slightly. 

“They arguing about something?” Rick asked.

“Not sure,” Maggie said, looking worried now herself. “I’m going to go check on Glenn.”

“I’ll come with you,” Rick volunteered, following her around to the back of the church. Carl tagged along, and Tara watched them go like she wanted to come but didn’t know how to ask.

The back of the church looked a little trashier than the front, the paint more worn and the parking lot cluttered with a few junker cars and the broken down bus. Eugene had his head in the engine, while Glenn looked over his shoulder and Abraham held up the hood and yelled at them. Rosita, Rick was relieved to notice, was standing a few feet away with her eyes on the tree line.

Maggie went right up to them and asked how it was going. Abraham shut his mouth for a minute, letting Glenn answer her, even though the answer obviously wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“We need parts,” Glenn said, his expression bleak. “And even then, it might not work.”

Eugene was nodding along, and that was all it took for Abraham to wave them back and let the hood drop with a heavy thump. “Well, shit,” he said.

Rick took a couple of steps forward.

“There was that town nearby,” Glenn said, “the one Eugene pointed out on the map. Maybe they have an auto parts store.”

“Or a mechanic’s garage,” Rick murmured.

“Right, yeah.” Glenn tried to wipe the grease on his hands with a rag, then turned to Abraham with an expectant look. “So we’ll need to go into town.”

“Might as well look for food and such while we’re there,” Maggie said, backing him up.

Abraham’s mustached bristled up, and Rick stepped forward quickly.

“There was a flyer in the office,” he started.

“What the hell are you talking about, Grimes?” Abraham demanded. 

Glenn waved him off, and Rick continued, “It was for a canned food drive. Looks like it ended right before, well.”

“The apocalypse?” Carl said dryly.

“Yeah, that,” Rick said, laughing a little even though it wasn’t funny.

“So all that food could still be wherever they stored it,” Glenn said, beginning to smile.

“That’s what I figure,” Rick said. “We need parts, and we might as well stock up on food while we can.”

Abraham grimaced, but nodded. “I’ll take Rosita and Glenn on a quick sweep, back before dark.” 

“I’m coming too,” Maggie said firmly.

“We should take a few others, too,” Rick said. “If it goes right, there will be a lot to carry.”

“Woah, Rick,” Glenn said, touching his arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I…” Rick started. Glenn shot a look downward, and Rick flexed his bare feet self-consciously. He hadn’t forgotten about them. He was fine.

“You need to stay here, dad,” Carl chimed in, looking firm. 

“It’s just a supply run,” Glenn said. “We’ll be fine. In and out.”

Rick nodded slowly. He was still having to brace his ribs. Maybe he would be more of a hindrance than a help. “In and out.” He looked at Abraham, and the taller man stared back at him impassively. “You’ll be careful?” He didn’t want to trust them with this near-stranger, even if Glenn had vouched for him.

“We’ll be fine,” Maggie said. “Sasha and Bob will come. Maybe Tara, too.”

Glenn was capable, and with so many he did trust going along, Abraham couldn’t be too much of a problem. Rick’s head tilted to one side, his brow lowering. But he nodded. “Yeah, you should go.”

They all looked relieved, and Rick could only blink at their reaction.

“You’ll watch Eugene,” Abraham growled, like it was a foregone conclusion.

“Of course,” Rick said. 

“Michonne and Tyreese will be here,” Carl said quietly. Rick got the implication immediately, felt it like a stab to the gut.

But he nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

Abraham screwed his mouth up in a thoughtful grimace, then sighed. “Let’s get moving,” he said gruffly, “before we lose the light.” 

Rick thought it might be October, and Abraham was right, the sun would be going down in just a few hours.

“Be careful,” Rick said again as Glenn passed him. Glenn nodded, patted his arm again in reassurance. 

“Hey, get some rest, man,” Glenn said, and they left.

Rick, with Carl and Eugene, went back to the front of the church, and they sat with Tyreese and Judith while Michonne kept watch from the front steps, her katana ready. It made Rick feel safer, if a little helpless, and he tried to relax.

Carl shoved a packet of peanuts into his hands, and set another bottle of water next to him. Rick sighed, but started eating, one small bit at a time. 

Bob wandered in a few minutes later, and sat near Rick on a log, accepting a bag of granola when it was passed to him.

“You decide not to go with the others?” Rick asked.

Bob ducked his head. “Sasha said there was no sense in both of us being tired later, sent me back in.”

“She’s a strong woman,” Rick said.

Bob watched him for a moment, and he had an odd look on his face, almost … beatific, Rick thought. He cocked his head, wondering what the other man was thinking. 

“What you did at Terminus,” Bob began, and Rick’s heart rolled over in his chest. “You weren’t wrong.”

Rick couldn’t breathe for a moment. Then he said, “You don’t know what I done.”

Bob smiled peacefully. “I can guess. Seen the aftermath of a firefight before.” And Rick remembered that Bob had been an Army medic, or something like that. They were quiet for a moment, Rick very quietly panicking.

"You tell the others?" Rick eventually asked, his voice a little hoarse.

Bob shrugged. "Didn't see any need." He paused, then said, “We push ourselves, and let things go.”

“Things?” Was he still talking about Terminus? Rick felt like he couldn’t get enough air.

“Then we let some more go, and some more,” Bob said, as if Rick hadn’t spoken. “Pretty soon, there’s things we can’t get back.”

Rick sat very still. He felt like there was a stone in his stomach, hard and unyielding and trying to get back up his throat. And maybe Bob was right. Maybe he had gone too far. 

Bob could guess some of it, but Rick thought he knew what the other man would say if he knew everything.

“Some things,” he said, and had to cough for a moment. “Some things we can’t hold on to, even if we try.” He thought of Gareth’s mutilated torso, waiting to turn, and swallowed.

But Bob’s smile didn’t falter. “Washington’s going to happen, Rick.”

Rick shook his head, reeling from what seemed like a change in subject. “I’m not sure we should go.”

Bob nodded agreeably. “That’s cool.” He scooped up a bit of the granola in his fingers, dropped it in his mouth, said, “But you’ve seen Abraham in action.” He paused to chew, and Rick’s brow furrowed as he waited to see where this would go. “He’s gonna get there, and Eugene’s gonna cure all this,” Bob continued, looking a little more serious now. “And you’re gonna find yourself in a place where it’s like how it used to be.”

Rick greeted the idea with a sudden sense of terror, like ice running down his spine.

“And if you let too much go along the way, that’s not going to work,” Bob said, reaching for more granola. “Because you’re gonna be back in the real world.”

Rick grimaced, looking down. “This is the real world, Bob.” There had been a time he’d doubted it, had thought this all a coma dream. But lately that had come to seem more like wishful thinking. 

“Nah,” the other man said easily. “This is a nightmare, and nightmares end.”

If that was true, Rick thought, where did that leave the monsters like him?

“I’m sorry,” he said, not exactly sure what he was apologizing for.

But Bob just smiled again, sunny, and said, “I’m calling it. Washington’s gonna happen. You’re gonna say yes. Already too much momentum.” He paused, then said as if quoting someone, “You can’t fight city hall.”

Rick couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and after a long pause, Bob shrugged. “Maybe that’s one of those parts of not letting go.”

“Maybe,” Rick said, feeling it like an ache just below his sternum.

Tara interrupted them then, for which Rick was immensely thankful, sitting next to him, fidgeting slightly until Bob took the hint and wandered over to where Tyreese was watching Judith.

“Should I have gone?” she asked him after a short silence.

“I can’t answer that for you,” Rick said, staring down at another peanut. “If you don’t feel up to it…”

“I just, we never really had to go on supply runs, and …”

“No, I get it.” Rick turned back to watch Judith. “But we have enough people. Glenn’s a good man, he’ll get them back safe, with the supplies.”

But by nightfall they were all worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a few chapters ahead on this, and I can confirm I have just written their first kiss! I did say slow burn, right? ... very slow.
> 
> This also explains my posting non-schedule. I've been uploading one chapter every time I finish a new one, so hopefully there won't be any long gaps. :)
> 
> Feedback is awesome, I would love to hear what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl returns without Carol, but with a kid named Noah, and this becomes a rescue mission. Also, Daryl makes a move, and Rick gets really confused.

“Daryl and Carol are still out there,” Michonne said, gripping her katana so harshly that her knuckles strained against its hilt. Rick stood beside her, gnawing on his lower lip.

“How far did they say they were going?” he asked.

“They didn’t,” Michonne said sharply. 

“Right.” Rick shook his head. “Thought I might have missed something.”

She grimaced in apology. “No, you didn’t miss anything. They went out for water and—”

“Just never came back.” It was getting very dark, and most of the others were inside the church. 

Glenn had led his group back an hour before, triumphant, all carrying sacks of cans, Abraham toting a box of auto parts. 

The run had gone so smoothly, they’d all seemed a little high, chattering about the flooded basement of the food bank, the unbroken lock on the mechanic’s shop that had yielded all the parts they could need. 

Glenn had even found a few silencers in a refrigerator, of all places, and Maggie had tossed Rick a jacket she’d found at the thrift store/food pantry where the cans had been stored. It was old and worn, but real leather, lined in flannel, and he ducked out of his blanket poncho and pulled on the jacket with a smile of gratitude. 

It was a touch too big, and everyone was so giddy he endured a round of teasing about how handsome he looked in his new jacket with his trimmed beard. He felt self-conscious, his face getting hot, but he laughed with them. They were happy for once. There was almost a festival atmosphere at dinner, the canned meats and vegetables like a feast, everyone feeling a little more secure.

So when it had started to get dark, and they’d realized Daryl and Carol’s continued absence, it had been immediately sobering.

“We have to look for them,” Rick said, taking a few steps toward the woods.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Maggie said sharply, stepping around Glenn and snagging the back of his jacket with a firm hand. “You could barely stand up earlier.”

“It don’t matter,” he said. “Those are our people.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Abraham said loudly. “We need to get moving for DC. The cure? It’s a lot more important than any one person, no matter how much you care about them.”

“It’s two people, asshole,” Tara said, her voice brave even over the undercurrent of fear running through it. 

“The bus will not be repaired tonight,” Eugene said, his high voice cutting over the others. “Nor even the day after.”

“Yeah,” Glenn said quickly. “We need to pull the engine, rig a hoist.”

“That’s why we scavenged the chains and tackle,” Rosita said, her voice almost too patient, long-suffering, like they’d been arguing for a while. 

“Exactly,” Eugene said. “We cannot all work on the engine at once. Therefore, ample time remains to conduct a brief search for their friends and complete the engine repairs.”

“And we can still all leave together,” Glenn added, voice strained. “Go to Washington, just like you wanted.”

Rick held his breath, watching Abraham’s mustache crumple up as he thought about it.

“We owe Carol our lives,” Rick said quietly into the silence that followed. “We have to at least try.”

Abraham snorted, but after a moment nodded slowly. “Alright. We’re here until the bus is up and running. What you do in that time …” 

“Alright,” Rick nodded, accepting the deal. Turning to Michonne, he started to lay out a plan. “We need to find their trail, see which way they went.”

“Already on it,” she said, stalking toward the woods. Abraham watched her go, and then went back into the church. Rosita and Eugene followed, Rosita casting an apologetic look back over her shoulder.

“We’ll need at least three groups,” Rick said to the others.

“We’ll go,” Sasha said, volunteering her and Bob.

“Of course,” Glenn said, and Maggie nodded.

“Alright,” Rick said. “I’m with Michonne.”

“No,” Glenn said quickly, “we’re not going through this again. You’re in no shape, man.”

Rick looked at the others, and while Bob wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Tara was carefully looking at the ground, everyone else was staring him down, no sign of budging. 

“I am not leaving them out there,” Rick said flatly.

“That’s not what you’re doing,” Glenn said. 

Rick was not going to be left behind again. He’d spent the day resting and dozing, and assessing his own condition he no longer felt dizzy or dislocated. He was good to go. And he would have kept arguing.

But at that moment Michonne stepped back into the light, Daryl at her heels.

* * *

Rick ran to him, and grabbed both of Daryl’s arms, holding him at arm’s length to run his eyes over the other man’s body, looking for wounds or bites. “You’re okay?” he’d demanded, only then looking behind Daryl to see not Carol behind him but a boy he’d never seen before. “Who the hell is that?”

And Daryl had explained everything that had happened, finding a working car and jugs of water, seeing one of the cars with a cross in its window like the one that had taken Beth from him, following it into Atlanta, finding this kid, Carol getting hit by the same damn car they’d been looking for, or one just like it, and watching her get captured with not a damned thing he could do about it.

He’d been shaking by the end, pulling on a bottle of water the whole time, and the kid had watched him with big eyes, nodding occasionally to agree with or back up part of Daryl’s story. 

Rick, sitting as close by Daryl’s side as he could manage, passed the other man a second bottle as soon as he emptied the first, seeing signs of exhaustion and dehydration, wondering if Daryl had even slept since he’d vanished.

“So they have Carol, and Beth,” Maggie said. Her voice was flat, but her eyes were absolutely sparking. “Beth’s alive.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more a demand for confirmation.

And Daryl gave it to her, and Maggie finally broke out into a grin so broad it was like she couldn’t contain her joy. She shuddered with it, and Glenn smiled to watch her.

“We have to talk to these people, get them back,” Rick said, still watching Maggie’s joy.

But the kid, Noah, shook his head. “You gotta understand, the hospital is run by this crazy woman, Dawn. She won’t let them go, no matter what.” He looked down for a moment. “She never lets anybody go.”

The boy had a crooked leg, Rick had noticed his limp as they’d all come inside, and how he was looking down at that leg, his expression solemn and a little fearful.

“Did she do that to you?” Rick asked, trying to keep his voice soft and non-threatening. 

Noah looked up at him, and nodded. Tyreese, still holding Judith, frowned sharply, concern creasing his heavy brows.

“We gotta go back for Carol,” Daryl demanded, as if anyone would argue.

“We will,” Rick said immediately, putting a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. 

“We should try to get there a little before sun-up,” Glenn said, and Rick nodded, deferring to the younger man’s judgment. Glenn had always been best at city raids. 

“You ain’t going anywhere,” Abraham said, and Rick’s head came up, focusing in tightly on Abraham’s expression. He felt more than saw Daryl moving in concert with him, and the rest of the group seemed to fade away a little.

“We’re going,” he growled.

“Not with Glenn you ain’t,” Abraham snapped, and Glenn’s eyebrows shot up.

“What the hell, man?” Glenn asked.

“Beth is my sister,” Maggie said, talking over Glenn a little. “I’m going.”

“And I’m going with her,” Glenn said. “We told you already, we go where Rick goes.”

Rick shook his head, trying to clear it. “We have to go after our people.” Abraham hesitated, and Rick pushed, “That was the deal, hasn’t changed.”

“Raiding a heavily fortified structure in a hostile city overrun with walkers is a hell of a lot different from sending out a few search parties,” Abraham said, reminding Rick that the other man was military. “We need to get to DC, and we need more people to make traveling safer for all of us.” He looked at Rosita then, and she nodded in agreement. “Now, I made a deal with Glenn here. I helped him find his wife.”

Glenn paused at that, looked down. Rick tilted his head, wondering what exactly had happened to them after the prison.

“And he promised to help us get to Washington in exchange,” Abraham continued. “The way I see it, you all are looking to get yourselves killed, and that breaks our previous deal.”

“And Carol got you out of Terminus,” Rick said flatly. “You’d have had a hard time getting to DC from a cannibal’s stomach.”

“They are correct,” Eugene said, speaking up from his place in a pew several feet away. “We would indeed be deceased were it not for the missing woman.”

“That ain’t the point,” Abraham began.

Rick cut him off. “You still have to fix the bus.”

Abraham ground his teeth for a moment, but nodded grudgingly.

“It’s safe enough here,” Rosita said then, visibly trying to seem casual. “We’ll be okay if a few people leave for a few days.”

She was trying to minimize the impact of their absence, and Rick felt immensely grateful to her for a moment.

“We won’t take everyone,” Glenn added, holding both hands up in a gesture of placation. “We leave enough people that we can keep Eugene safe here.”

“For how long?” Abraham said.

“It doesn’t sound like we can reason with these people,” Rick said, looking to Noah. The boy nodded firmly, and Rick continued, “so it’ll be quick, a day or two at the most.”

“In and out?” Abraham said, an echo of their earlier conversation.

“In and out,” Rick promised.

“Who’s going?” Tara asked timidly, reluctance in every line of her body, but determination, too, if she were asked to go. Rick thought to himself then that he would have to be careful about asking her to do things, because she would try.

“You leave enough fighters to protect Eugene while we’re working on the bus,” Abraham bargained. “I want Tyreese here, and Michonne.”

Tyreese ducked his head, but nodded. Michonne looked to Rick, and he tilted his head in question, leaving it up to her. After a moment of thought, she agreed to stay behind.

“How are we even getting there,” Maggie fretted. “It’s twenty miles or more.”

“We found an SUV,” Daryl said then, and Noah perked up.

“I’ll have to come with you,” Noah said. “I know these people, the layout, how to talk to them.”

Rick nodded. “It’s settled. Daryl, me, Noah. Who else?”

“I’ll stay here,” Bob said. “And help watch Judith.”

“Thank you,” Rick said, hearing the unspoken ‘and Carl’ that would only offend his son.

“I’ll stay and help with that,” Tara said, looking to Tyreese. 

Bob continued, “We should probably set up a few fortifications, too, if we’re going to be here for a few days,” and Tyreese nodded his agreement.

“I’ll come with you,” Sasha said. Her eyes were sharp, and clear, and Rick nodded his thanks. Sasha was good with the sniper rifle, and you never knew when a sniper might come in handy.

“Car can’t fit many more,” Daryl said, “not if we’re bringing back two people.”

“And we will,” Rick said firmly.

“Well I’m going,” Maggie said, as if reminding him. 

Rick grimaced, recounting in his head. “That’s five.”

“And me,” Glenn said.

Abraham stirred, and while Rick wanted Glenn with them, his experience with scavenging in Atlanta and his steady presence at Rick’s back, maybe it wasn’t worth renegotiating with Abraham.

“I’m not leaving her again,” Glenn said, and after a breath, Abraham backed down.

Michonne was frowning thoughtfully. “If this works, they might try to come after us.”

Everyone paused, thinking about it. Were they starting another war, like with the Governor? Where would this one end?

“If they do, we should plan to leave as soon as you get back,” Michonne continued.

Rick nodded, realizing what she wasn’t saying. 

“There was more in that town,” Bob said. “More than we could carry. We could do another supply run, have the bus loaded up and ready to go.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Abraham said, warming up to the plan – and probably thinking that it would get them on their way to DC that much faster.

“I have to go,” Glenn said, peering up at Abraham with an intent look in his eyes. “But I swear, I will come back. We will go with you to Washington.”

Rick didn’t entirely like this; it was as if the decision to throw in with Abraham had suddenly become a fait accompli, and he still hadn’t decided whether they should even go or not. But Abraham was weakening, and Rick nodded to him, signaling his agreement to the new deal Glenn had just forged. If this would get the man’s cooperation, it would have to do.

“Okay,” Rick said, readjusting his plans a little, trying not to think of what would come after. “Bob, Michonne, and … Tara?” She nodded. “Can work on supplies. Everyone else staying should keep watch or work on the bus.” He stood, and for the first time in a few days didn’t feel dizzy once he was on his feet. “The rest of us are going to Atlanta.”

No one tried to stop him this time. He wasn’t sure what that meant.

* * *

They loaded up for bear. 

Daryl had left the SUV a short walk away, hidden from view just off the highway, he said. Rick looked over to where Sasha was cleaning the sniper rifle, going over its every part; Bob, sitting next to her, was watching her with a lovestruck look on his face. The candlelight softened the lines of their faces.

“I love you,” he heard Sasha say, though she didn’t look up from the rifle. Bob smiled, and she looked up just long enough to kiss him, then went back to work.

Maggie was working on one of the assault rifles, and Glenn was loading up a duffle with supplies he thought they might need – food that would travel well, and water, knives, guns that fit the suppressors he’d found. 

Noah sat by himself, looking dazed. Rick gave him what little squirrel meat they had left, and a bottle of water. “Eat up,” he said gruffly, and Noah looked up at him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

Rick sat on the bench beside him, settling a candle in its own wax on the wood between them. “What can we expect in there?”

“What do you mean?”

“We need the layout, the number of guards, any ways in they might not expect.”

Noah nodded. “I can do that.” He ate the bits of squirrel quickly. 

Rick patted his leg, standing up. “I’ll get you something to write with,” he said, and went into the rectory.

There was paper on the desk, like Rick remembered, and he started opening drawers, looking for a pen or pencil. He was finding everything but – rubber bands and index cards and loose staples that were weirdly sticky. “Come on, a highlighter, anything,” he muttered. The candle guttered, and he squinted in the flickering light.

Just then Daryl came into the rectory, closing the door behind him.

Rick looked up from where he was bent over an open drawer, raising his brows. “What’s up?”

Daryl didn’t say anything, and Rick straightened up, coming out from behind the desk. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Moving fast, Daryl caught the lapel of his new jacket in one hand, his arm in the other, his hands hard and unyielding. Rick tensed, and his hands flew up to grasp Daryl’s wrists, but Daryl didn’t do anything, just held him there with a strong grip, pinning him in place. His head was ducked a little, like he was trying to get a better look at Rick’s eyes.

Rick started to ask, “What?” but Daryl took a step forward, pushing Rick back and Rick stilled, startled by the move. His hands flexed where they were still holding onto Daryl, and Rick felt how tense Daryl was beneath his fingers, how corded his forearms were. 

“Daryl?” he asked, but got no response. Licking his dry lips, he finally returned Daryl’s intent gaze, and stopped trying to figure out what was going on.

Daryl’s eyes didn’t waver. Narrowed slightly, his eyes seemed to see into Rick, or past him, and Rick felt pinned not just by that strong grip but by that stare. In the dim light, Daryl’s expression wasn’t clear, and Rick couldn’t understand what the other man wanted. His heart started to beat faster, and he wasn’t sure why, and he blinked, feeling a little anxious.

Tightening his grip, Daryl pushed him back another step, and Rick went with it, feeling so confused but he trusted Daryl, Daryl wouldn’t hurt him, and he let Daryl push him slowly, inexorably to the wall, pressing his shoulders into it, and Rick let his head rest against the wall, and watched Daryl, who seemed to be struggling with something that couldn’t be spoken. 

Daryl’s fingers twisted in the leather of Rick’s jacket, and he pushed Rick harder into the wall, his mouth twisting to one side like some great, unknown emotion was trying to force its way to the surface, and Rick’s own mouth opened slightly as he watched his friend and tried to understand.

After a long, still moment, Daryl finally looked down, his expression crumpling and Rick panicked a little, stirring in Daryl’s hold, and Daryl released him abruptly, almost shoving himself back a few steps, so abruptly that Rick slid down the wall a little, suddenly unsupported.

“Daryl?” he asked again, his voice sounding as lost as Daryl suddenly looked. “What are you…”

But Daryl cut him off, stepping in close again, a fierce look burning out from his eyes. “You be careful,” he growled.

Rick blinked. Was Daryl just worried about him? “I’ll be careful,” he said slowly.

Daryl shook his head, looking frustrated. “I mean it, Rick.” He huffed a breath. “You ain’t been careful since I met you. But.” He shook his head again, and Rick reached out almost unconsciously. Daryl didn’t notice. “Need you to come back from this.”

Rick froze. 

What if Daryl wasn’t concerned about his safety.

What if Daryl was concerned he’d become even more of a monster.

Rick swallowed. His throat was dry, and clicked with the motion, and Rick squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

He trusted Daryl. He had to.

“I will,” he managed after a time. “I swear.”

And Daryl accepted that, nodding firmly, and left.

Rick watched him go, feeling dazed, like he’d been hit in the head again. 

What had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where things really start changing. Since no one from Terminus managed to follow them (or survive, for that matter), the dynamics among the group change quite a bit as Abraham has a little less reason to want to leave immediately, and more people can be spared for each part of the plan. So they don't have to split up. :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mission: Rescue Beth is a go. Part of the group heads into Atlanta, and Glenn and Daryl help Rick come up with an alternate plan. Also, Daryl continues making moves, Rick remains mystified. He's preoccupied, okay?
> 
> (Part 1 of the mission, to be continued in the next chapter).

Rick stayed leaning against the wall for a few minutes, like he was still pinned there. His arm where Daryl had gripped it ached, and it was almost like Daryl was still holding onto him. 

He ran a hand over his beard, the bristles still feeling unusually short, and over his mouth. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around Daryl’s actions.

But he didn’t have time for that now. He shook himself, and went back to searching.

The last drawer yielded a few pens, and Rick took those and the paper out to Noah. The boy had finished eating, and was still working on his bottle of water, but when Rick handed him the paper he dropped the bottle and started writing immediately, hunching over with the paper balanced across his knees.

Rick left him to it. 

A few of the others were working on the fortifications Bob had mentioned; he was helping Sasha break up the church pews, the blows of the axes loud in the enclosed space. They were making a game of it, and Rick watched them fondly for a moment. As they worked, Tara, Rosita and even Eugene worked on nailing the boards over the windows, creating another layer of protection just in case a herd came through.

Daryl and Tyreese were pulling apart the organ, taking the tall silver pipes out to where Glenn and Abraham were digging post holes, setting the pipes so that they protected the door and the front steps. Rick thought they almost looked like the bristling spines of a mechanical hedgehog. 

Carl had Judith, and stayed near Noah, who was busy scribbling away.

Rick went out into the darkness where Michonne was standing guard near those working on the windows, holding a torch so they could see the nails. She kept her gaze on the woods, and Rick stopped next to her.

“You should stay,” she said, not looking at him. “You’re not well.”

Rick shook his head. “I owe it to Carol.”

“We all owe it to Carol,” Michonne tried to reason.

“I owe her more,” Rick said, voice low with guilt.

Michonne considered that. “Alright,” she said after a time, her expression inscrutable in the torchlight. “You should at least get some rest.”

“We leave at first light,” Rick said. “There isn’t time.”

“Make time,” she said forcefully. “Just lie down if you can’t sleep.”

“Couldn’t sleep in all this racket anyway,” Rick said, managing a smile.

She snorted, hit his arm. “Go lie down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said finally, and went back inside.

He got a few hours on the couch in the rectory. He almost didn’t want to go back in there, and spent most of the time lying there wondering if Daryl would come back in, and what would happen if he did, and wondering whether Daryl might be angry at him. Why else would Daryl push him against the wall like that?

But Daryl never came in, and Rick wasn’t sure what that meant, either. 

They loaded up as the night began to lighten, and set off for the SUV in the gray pre-dawn light.

When they got there, Daryl drove. He was exhausted, but driven by worry for Carol and Beth he insisted, and Glenn rode shotgun to provide his thoughts about making their way into the city. Rick rode next to Noah, and they went over the layout and the position of the guards.

It was full light by the time they got to the building where Daryl had last seen Carol, and Noah directed them to a good spot for setting up, a warehouse just a few blocks from the hospital. They unloaded the SUV, and got it out of sight of any patrols just inside one of the warehouse’s bay loading doors, and Rick started laying out his plan.

Noah had drawn a good map, and Rick pointed to one of the east stairwells, far enough away from Dawn’s headquarters that it wasn’t regularly patrolled, Noah had said.

“We cut the locks on the stairway, here,” Rick said, pointing. “Take it to the fifth floor. I open the door, Daryl takes the guard out.”

“How?” Glenn asked.

“Slits his throat,” Rick said, his voice matter-of-fact.

The others exchanged looks, and Rick continued, explaining, “This is all about us doing this quiet, keeping the upper hand.”

“What if we waited till after dark,” Glenn said, and Rick paused. “We could fire a shot in the air, get two of them out on patrol, get some real intel.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Rick said. “They won’t be expecting us. I like the idea of thinning out their numbers before we go in.”

“Woah, I didn’t mean kill them,” Glenn said, surprised.

Rick blinked. “What else are we supposed to do with them?”

“Maybe we could trade a couple of their people for Beth and Carol,” Maggie said, peering at the map.

Rick frowned. “But what if they won’t trade? Noah? What do you think?”

Noah hesitated. “I don’t …. I mean, Dawn gets really set in her ways.”

“Will she negotiate?” Sasha asked. “It might be better than trying to fight everyone.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, and Rick felt an odd stab of betrayal. “All it takes is one cop going down the hall at the wrong time, and it’s bullets flying everywhere.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Rick said, staring at the others.

“It’s not,” Daryl said, and his tone seemed significant.

“We just do an even swap,” Glenn said, his voice very even and reasonable. “Everybody gets to go home.”

Rick bit his lip, looking back at the map. He could almost see it, his plan. Quick, quiet, splitting up to take out the cops one by one, cornering Dawn in her office and ending this with one blow of his new hatchet. It would work. It would be so simple. And then his people would be safe.

“It might work,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

“It will work,” Glenn said, then turned to Noah. “You said Dawn’s just trying to keep it together, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Noah said hesitantly. 

“So most of those people don’t deserve to die, right?” Glenn pressed.

“Some of them are good people,” Noah confirmed. “There’s a few guards that want to take over from Dawn, run the place more like it should be run.”

“See?” Glenn said. “This will work, especially if we can grab one of those guards, maybe get them on our side.”

“We couldn’t trust them,” Rick said. “No matter what they said. They could betray us.”

“Do you think this is the best play?” Maggie asked Glenn, twisting her hands together. “If Beth gets hurt now…”

“ _This_ will work,” Rick snapped, stabbing Noah’s map with a stiff finger. 

The others went quiet.

Rick’s breathing was harsh, and he couldn’t seem to look up from the map.

“We’re not those people,” Glenn said quietly into the silence. “That’s not who we are.”

“Maybe we should be,” Rick said slowly.

“Can I talk to you?” Daryl said, and without waiting for an answer grabbed Rick’s arm and pulled him to his feet, hustling them both over to a far corner of the warehouse.

Rick stumbled over his feet, feeling dragged along, frustration bubbling up in him.

“What are you doing, man?” Daryl growled as soon as he stopped. 

“This is the best plan,” Rick said, pleading. “This will keep us alive.”

“You don’t know that.” Daryl huffed a breath, and stepped back. “This could go just as wrong. Get people killed.”

“But what if this is like Terminus,” Rick hissed. And that was his real fear. They had gone in there so unprepared – he had taken his _son_ in there, and it was a miracle they’d all gotten out.

“Then we’ll handle it,” Daryl said, putting a hand on Rick’s shoulder.

His hand was warm, even through Rick’s new jacket, and he leaned into the pressure a little.

“You can’t keep thinking the worst of people,” Daryl murmured.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut, carefully not thinking about Gareth’s mutilated body, the priest falling headless to the forest floor. “I know.” He breathed. “But what if…”

Daryl snorted, pushed him back a step. “You trust me?”

Rick bit his lip. “Of course I do.”

“We’ll be careful,” he said. “We’ll handle this.”

Rick started to nod. “Okay, okay, we take a couple of hostages. That’s … we have to be careful.”

“We will be.”

“I mean really careful.” Rick felt like his heart might pound out of his chest. “No one goes off alone, we keep two people on the hostages at all times, Sasha needs to be up on the roof providing cover with that rifle.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright, that’s fine. That makes sense.” He stared into Rick’s eyes for a long moment, as if he might say something else. Then patted Rick’s arm where he’d been holding it, and turned back to the others.

“Rick’s got some ideas,” he said, walking back to them.

Rick stared at the floor for a moment, putting a hand where’s Daryl’s had been. He wondered if his arm would bruise from Daryl’s grip.

* * *

Noah pinpointed the best place to set an ambush, a space formed by the meeting of three warehouses and the alleys between them. Rick still thought waiting for nightfall might be their best bet, but Maggie talked him into getting started around mid-morning, hoping to have Beth back and get out of town before dark. Glenn backed her up, not just because he loved her, he said, but because the hostage exchange would be easier to cover if Sasha had the light on her side.

So Rick agreed, and they set up in the alleyways, with Sasha on a nearby roof and Noah playing bait. He would be slow with his bad leg, so Rick told everyone to stay close just in case they caught two of the power-hungry jerks and not the nicer ones they were hoping for. 

Daryl had his crossbow, and Rick took one of the silenced pistols, and they hid together in the alley to the east. Glenn and Maggie took the alley to the south, Noah having assured them the car would approach from the west, from the direction of the hospital.

The sun was almost directly overhead, and the day was growing hot, even for early fall in Georgia. They’d left behind their jackets and most of their supplies. Daryl was close at his back, and Rick’s focus was on Noah but he could feel Daryl’s presence and it made him feel … more secure, somehow. Almost safe, even with the sweat starting to run down his back and the gun heavy in his hand.

“You ready for this?” Daryl asked, almost in a whisper.

“Yeah,” Rick said, shifting slightly. “We still clear?”

Daryl looked around. They hadn’t seen many walkers; the Grady patrols kept the area relatively clear, and after they’d put down a few stragglers they had a sort of bubble they could operate in. Rick’s concern was grabbing the two cops and getting off the street before they attracted a herd or worse.

“We’re clear,” Daryl said after a moment, and Rick turned to signal Noah.

Noah saw his sign, nodded, and fired a shot into the air.

Show time.

There was silence for a few minutes, and Rick began to wonder if the first part of their plan would even work. 

But in the distance, the faint sounds of a car engine split the air.

“Get ready,” Daryl muttered. Rick nodded, adjusting his grip on the gun, unfamiliar and unbalanced by the silencer.

Noah started limping theatrically across the open space, shooting again, moving as if being chased. The sound of the engine got louder. Noah had to cross the space again, firing one more shot, and then the big Cadillac roared around the corner, just as Noah had said it would, and screeched to a halt right in Noah’s path, almost hitting him.

It was a white woman driving, and a black man leapt out of the car, his gun already up. “Get on the ground,” he yelled, motioning with the gun at Noah, who had his hands up and a convincing look of terror on his face.

The woman stepped out with her gun raised, as well, providing competent backup for her partner. Watching them, Rick was almost reminded of the old world, of riding around with Shane.

Things were a little too different, though, for him to feel any sense of nostalgia.

As they were telling Noah to cooperate, that they didn’t want to hurt him, Rick and Daryl stepped quietly out behind the woman, Glenn and Maggie moving to flank the man, and Rick whistled softly.

Both cops froze. 

The man turned around first to see what they faced, his gun still raised.

“Drop it,” Rick said, holding his own gun steady.

That motioning bullshit could ruin your aim, Rick knew, if you ended up having to shoot.

“We don’t want any trouble,” the man said, sweat beading on his bald scalp.

“There won’t be any if you drop your weapons,” Rick said, using the same tone, falling back into old rhythms as he spoke to people with similar training.

Clearly outnumbered, both cops lowered their guns, and Rick and Daryl got them bound with zip ties and back in their car in moments. Glenn jumped into the driver’s seat and peeled out. The rest followed on foot, moving quickly, Sasha speeding off the roof and meeting them a street over.

Back at the warehouse, they worked together to get their new hostages out of the car and into one of the building’s small offices. Rick reasoned that a smaller room would make them easier to control, and make it easier to keep information from them, if needed.

As they explained what they wanted, the two cops looked at first skeptical, and then outright worried.

“We’re the last two people she’d trade for,” the woman started to say.

“Some of us want to take over from Dawn,” the man explained. “And she knows it.”

“She’s running Grady into the ground,” the woman continued. “And I’m pretty sure she knows we want Lansom here to replace her.”

Rick looked between them, then to Noah. “That so?”

The boy looked thoughtful, but nodded. “I don’t think Dawn knows who, exactly, but if even I heard the rumors …”

“She knows,” Lansom said, smiling oddly. “And she’s smart.”

“There’s a good chance you can’t make this deal work,” the woman said, looking increasingly nervous. “And that’ll leave us all dead.”

“But if you let us go,” Lansom offered, “we’ll take care of Dawn ourselves, and then we’ll let your friends go.” He looked from Rick to Daryl, looking very sincere, so sincere Rick squinted at him. “And this is over.

“No,” Rick said slowly. “We’re not gonna do that.”

“Hey,” Daryl said quietly. “Maybe we should talk about this.”

“We can’t trust them.” Rick didn’t lower his voice. He didn’t care if they heard.

“We’re not trying to trick you,” the woman said urgently.

“Let me handle this,” Lansom hissed at her, then turned back to Rick. “You can make this work, but you’ve got to be able to talk to her.”

Rick looked at him, feeling full of suspicion. 

“Noah told us all about her,” Maggie said, crossing her arms.

“I’ve known her for eight years, ma’am.” Lansom seemed so sincere, his eyes steady and clear.

It was just making Rick feel more paranoid. What was this man hiding?

“It might be worth a shot,” Glenn said. “If we had someone on the inside, and if Dawn weren’t a problem…”

“And what if they decide to screw us over?” Rick demanded. “Just keep Beth, and Carol? Come out and kill us all?”

“You can’t do that,” Maggie said to Lansom, her voice hard. “She’s my sister, I have to get her back.”

“Please, look, I understand,” Lansom said. “Family, right? Well I know this woman. And my only interest is peaceful resolution, not dying, and sleeping in my bed tonight. So, please, let me help you.”

Rick shook his head, frowning.

“Look, you were a cop, weren’t you?” Lansom said, pleading now. “The way you hold yourself, the way you use that gun.”

“Yeah, he was,” Sasha said proudly, and Rick wondered why she would be proud of that, of knowing how far he’d fallen.

“So you understand,” Lansom said. “I just want my people safe.” He paused. “Look, my name’s Bob.” He made a motion with his shoulder, like he’d tried to bring his bound hand forward for a shake. “Cop to cop, I swear, we’re not interested in your people.”

“No,” Rick said. His voice felt thick. “No, the real cops are all gone.”

“One second,” Daryl said, and again grabbed Rick by the arm and pulled him away from the rest of the group.

They left the others in the little office with their hostages, and Daryl dragged Rick nearly to the other side of the warehouse, well out of earshot. Rick was struggling this time, unable to keep his feet. When Daryl slowed, Rick ripped himself free with a growl.

“Stop that!” he yelled.

“You gotta listen to me,” Daryl yelled back, getting up in his face, crowding into Rick until Rick was backed into the wall.

Part of Rick wanted to shove Daryl away, but breathing harshly he pressed himself against the wall and forced himself to calm down. “Fine, I’m listening.”

His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt hot. Daryl watched him, peering at him through his hair, like he was trying to learn Rick’s soul.

“This could be a good thing for us,” Daryl said finally. “Easy, not sticking our noses in their shit.”

Rick snorted, and the tension lessened a little.

“You think it’s like … politics in there?” Rick thought for a moment. “We shouldn’t kill their people?”

“Well, yeah,” Daryl said, gaining confidence. “Let them sort out their own shit.”

“Let them do it,” Rick nodded slowly. It made sense. “And this way, no one there will want to come after us.”

“Exactly,” Daryl said, nodding back. “I know you been … worried, but I don’t think you gotta be. Noah vouched for this guy. I think he’s solid.”

Rick paused. “But do we trust Noah?”

Daryl snorted then, and shoved at Rick’s shoulder. “Be serious, man.”

Rick smiled a little, but he couldn’t hold it. “I think I am being serious. How do we know he didn’t lead us all into a trap?”

Daryl looked at him then like he was disappointed in him. And Rick felt that like a knife to the gut.

“You gotta trust somebody,” Daryl said.

“I trust you,” Rick whispered.

Daryl nodded, and stepped in and did something Rick had only seen him do with Carol: he grabbed the back of Rick’s head, and pressed their foreheads together.

Rick let him, and they breathed the same air for a moment, close between them. Daryl smelled of sweat and leather, and Rick felt strangely calmed.

“Then trust me,” Daryl said, squeezing the back of Rick’s neck. 

“I do,” Rick protested. “I do.” He shook his head, trying to pull back – and when Daryl wouldn’t let him, relaxed into it. “But we can’t just let them go.”

“What do you suggest?” Maggie said.

And at the unexpected sound of her voice, Rick jerked out of Daryl’s hold, staring at her.

She shrugged apologetically. “I’m with you, Rick. I don’t trust these assholes. But if this is the safest way to get my sister back…”

“Well, let’s see if any of the others have an idea,” Rick said, still trying to calm himself after the scare. “We should talk it out, see what those two think.”

“And what they suggest might tell us if we can trust them,” Maggie said, a considering note in her voice.

“Exactly,” Rick said.

So they laid the situation out to the others, and lo and behold Lansom had an idea.

It wasn’t what Rick wanted, but it was what he could live with.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mission: Rescue Beth part 2 - the rest of the mission.
> 
> Spoilers in the endnotes, don't read them unless you want to be spoiled for this chapter.

It went just like Lansom said it would.

Two officers met Rick on the bridge, and he was able to greet them by name with Noah and Lansom’s intel. The black one, Franco or McGinley, he wasn’t sure, seemed twitchy and nervous, and Sasha ended up having to take out a walker to convince them Rick was serious.

It was a clean headshot, nearly soundless, and both men reacted with a deserved sense of terror.

Rick smirked a little to see it, unable to help himself. The sun was hot, sweat running into his eyes and stinging at the bullet crease. They’d all agreed he looked less threatening with the white bandage, so he’d had to remove it, and the wound was still raw and tender.

Daryl said it made him look like a badass, so he went with it.

He needed to look like someone they shouldn’t fuck with, or this could all go wrong. 

“All right,” the black one, Franco he thought, said. “What’s your proposal?”

“You have two of my people, I have two of yours,” Rick said once they’d lowered their weapons. “We want to make an exchange. Then we’ll be on our way. No one gets hurt.”

“Who?” the other asked. 

“Officers Lansom and Licari for Beth and Carol,” Rick said, slowly and carefully, making sure each name was heard. But the two officers looked confused, and Rick shook his head. “You picked up a woman yesterday after your people hit her with a car.”

McGinley nodded in recognition.”Lansom tell you all this?”

“He’s cooperating,” Rick acknowledged. “He just wants everyone to be safe. That’s all I want.”

He had to sell this. His people were counting on it.

“Where are our people? How do we know they’re okay?”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” Rick said, smirking a little. “Radio your lieutenant. I’ll wait.”

And he rocked back on his heels, as if he had all day, secure in his sniper’s competency. 

They radioed in, and even from several feet away Rick could hear the relief in Dawn’s voice. She did care for her people, in her way. 

Good, he thought. That might give them enough leverage to get through this.

Dawn okayed the swap after a few minutes of talking, and Rick signaled to his people. As they joined him on the roof of the garage, he checked Lansom’s zip ties, making sure they looked good.

“This’ll work,” Daryl muttered as he walked by, and Maggie fixed him with an intent glare.

“It’ll work,” he affirmed, hoping it was true.

Sasha was last down, and the two cops stared at her sniper rifle with spooked eyes. Rick took a lot of pleasure from that.

“We’re ready,” he prompted them.

“Is this all of your people?” Franco asked, looking around.

“All that we’re bringing,” Glenn said sharply.

“Alright, cool,” Franco said, holding his hands up.

“Lead the way,” Rick said, growing impatient.

Keeping Licari and Lansom in the middle of their group, they followed Franco and McGinley into the hospital, up five flights of stairs, moving slowly out of consideration for Noah’s limp.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” McGinley tried to say at one point on that long, silent climb. “You could have just said they were your people.”

“And you would have given them back?” Maggie asked, her voice cutting. “Just like that?”

“Don’t,” Lansom said then. “Just don’t.”

And no one else tried to speak after that.

They approached the double doors where they would make the swap steadily. McGinley looked through the small window of the left-hand door, nodded at something, and holstered his gun. “Holster your weapons,” a voice called, a woman’s voice.

“They’re putting theirs away,” Glenn said, looking through the other window.

“Alright,” Rick set, putting his Python back in its holster. “Let’s do this.”

They opened the doors, and Franco and McGinley moved down the hallway. There were three cops at the other end, in addition to their people and Dawn: another white guy, another white woman, and an Asian man. None of them looked particularly hostile, and Rick glanced over at Noah, who nodded once.

Okay, these cops would play ball.

They might really have a shot.

Carol didn’t look good, Rick saw. She was in a wheelchair, her legs canted to one side like something was hurting her. His heart clenched at the sight of her. 

The dark-haired woman said something to Franco as the two cops joined the group at the other end of the hall; he whispered something back, and then the woman came to the center of the hallway, evenly distanced from both groups, and Rick realized she must be Dawn.

“They haven’t been harmed,” Rick called to her, stepping a little in front of Licari.

Her eyes flickered to her people, one after the other. They must have given some sign, because she nodded, looking not satisfied but at least less angry than she had. “One of yours for one of mine,” she said then, and Rick nodded.

“Alright,” he said, and nudged Licari forward. 

She crossed the space between the two groups, and the other woman rolled Carol’s wheelchair forward. The wheels squeaked, and were loud in the tense silence.

When she got close enough, Daryl darted forward and pulled her into the group, keeping his eyes on Dawn.

Dawn watched this happen, but didn’t move, and Rick thought she might be reasonable after all.

Licari kept going, until she was standing behind the other three officers. Her hands were still behind her back.

“Move,” he said to Lansom, nudging the taller man forward. As Lansom walked toward Dawn, he nodded to her. She nodded back, but her eyes didn’t leave Rick. Lansom’s hands were behind his back, the zip ties white against the dark material of his uniform jacket.

Beth came toward them on her own, and Rick saw that she had a cast on her right wrist and was wearing clothes he hadn’t seen before, jeans and a butter-yellow polo top. She kept her eyes fixed on the group, her face rigid and tense, and sped up a little as she got closer. Lansom didn’t go all the way like Licari had, waiting near Dawn as Beth dashed into Maggie’s arms. Both sisters were crying, and Rick backed up a little, trying to keep them in the corner of his eye while keeping the other group in view. 

“Glad we could work things out,” Dawn said, her voice cold even while watching the touching scene.

“Yeah,” Rick said, taking another step back. His people were starting to stir, backing down the hallway.

Then Dawn stepped forward. “Now I just need Noah.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Rick growled. Daryl was beside him, both of them reaching for their guns but not drawing yet.

“Noah is my ward,” Dawn said, her eyes bright with something Rick couldn’t identify. “Beth took his place, and I’m losing her, so I need him back.”

The other woman, the one Rick didn’t know, stepped out in front of Licari, whose hands were still behind her back. “Ma’am, please, it’s not—”

“My officers put their lives on the line to find him,” Dawn snapped, interrupting the other woman.

“No,” Rick ground out, shaking his head. “He ain’t staying.”

“He’s one of mine,” Dawn said, as if that were a reasonable statement.

“The boy wants to go home,” Daryl said, and Rick thought for a moment he saw a flicker of white just in the corner of his eye.

“Well, then we don’t have a deal,” Dawn started to say.

And Rick thought he might have to draw his gun after all.

And Noah stepped forward as if he might say something.

But just then Lansom drew the gun they’d concealed in the back of his belt and put it to Dawn’s head.

Everyone froze.

“Bob?” she asked. Her eyes were very wide.

“You have to stop this, Dawn,” he said, and then still looking at her he said to Rick, “Get out of here, man! We’ve got this.”

Licari had popped her bonds and drawn her own gun, but the other officers didn’t seem inclined to make a fuss as Lansom disarmed Dawn in one smooth motion.

“Thank you,” Rick said, catching Lansom’s eye. Next to him, Dawn’s face had blanched, paler than the hospital’s tiles.

Lansom nodded. “Same to you. Now go!”

Daryl kept an eye on the rear, and Rick turned to hustle them all out of there. Beth looked conflicted, but Maggie had her by the arm, unwilling to let go, and Glenn pulled them both back toward the stairwell. Noah met them at the door, and took Beth’s other hand, and they smiled almost tearfully at each other. 

Sasha was holding the door. The rest went through, and Rick paused there with her to watch the cops at the other end of the hallway, Dawn looking small and somehow reduced among her former subordinates. 

“I think we’re good,” Sasha said, her watchful eyes on the officers.

Rick nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Beth lives! Didn't want to leave you guys in suspense for too long. Yes, this entire plan relied on Rick not killing Bob Lansom, and on the others talking Rick into trusting Lansom long enough to make the exchange. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang rests in an abandoned apartment in Atlanta before heading back.

They didn’t go back to the warehouse.

They probably could have. Rick though Lansom would probably keep his word, and not try to come after their group having gained control over the hospital.

But he couldn’t handle the thought of the Grady officers knowing where they were, even temporarily.

They were all a little punch-drunk and exhausted after the race to Atlanta and the tension in the hospital. Rick’s wounds were aching now that there was nothing to distract him, and his steps slowed as they moved through the city.

Beth was glowing, sandwiched between Noah and her sister, Glenn watching them with a satisfied grin creasing his face and his kind eyes. Daryl wheeled Carol before him, and she had an arm folded up so she could hold his hand where it held the chair’s handles. It was a cheap, temporary hospital chair, and in the quiet streets the squeaking seemed even worse.

“We should get off the street,” Sasha said, alertly scanning the street ahead of and behind them, while everyone else was distracted. 

“Yeah,” Rick agreed, and not just because he was starting to falter. “We probably can’t get back before dark.”

“We should get some rest,” Glenn said, finally looking away from his little family. “Start back in the morning.”

They swept through the warehouse for their supplies and jackets, and Daryl led them to the high rise where he’d first come across Noah. Working together, they got Carol up a few flights of stairs, and broke into an apartment that looked undisturbed.

Its occupants must have evacuated when everything first happened. When Rick and Sasha swept through the now-broken front door, the air was still, and stale, smelling of little more than dust. Nothing stirred, even after they banged on the wall near the front door, and Sasha nodded to him, moving further inside.

The apartment was a good size, a four bed two bath that must have cost quite a lot in the old world. The kitchen was open to the living room, and as everyone filtered inside Rick went to check the kitchen cabinets for any food that might have been left behind.

Glenn started going through cabinets with him, and they found a veritable feast – crackers, applesauce, a full jar of peanut butter, cans of soup, glass jars of pasta, and bags of dried fruit, strips of mango and tiny cranberries and rings of apples. “Maggie,” Glenn called excitedly, and tossed a bag of dried peaches at her. She caught it, laughing, and pulled Beth over to the kitchen to help strip the place bare. 

They hadn’t come across a place so untouched in a while, and Rick decided they should raid a few other apartments in this building, if they looked as undisturbed. How much better if they returned with their people _and_ with a bunch of food?

None of them were dumb enough to open the fridge, and anything in the cabinets and pantry that had gone bad had rotted into dust sometime in the last two years. What was left might be stale or out of date, but they had all learned long since that expired didn’t necessarily mean unsafe, or inedible. 

Daryl was helping Carol settle on the nice-looking sectional in the living room – it had a part that was longer than the rest, and she seemed almost comfortable once she was propped upright by the soft cushions. Rick watched them from the kitchen, chewing absently on a strip of dried mango. The sweetness burst across his tongue, but watching Daryl fussing over Carol made something strange and selfish move through him.

He shook himself, turning back to scavenging with the others. He could be happy for them. He should be.

“You holding up okay?” Glenn asked, and Rick remembered that Glenn hadn’t wanted him to come.

“I’m alright,” he said, running a hand over his face. He was tired, but he didn’t need the others fussing over him.

“Just get some sleep tonight,” Glenn said insistently. 

“We need someone on watch, in case they followed us,” Rick started to say.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped a little as Daryl pulled him away from Glenn into a one-armed hug. “And we’ll take care of it,” Daryl growled into his ear, and Rick shivered. “You’re gonna eat something and go to sleep in that bed in there.”

Rick sagged. “Fine, yes, I … fine.”

Glenn perked up. “Great! You go sit down, we’ll put together some food.”

“Let us do some of the work,” Beth said, looking up at him with eyes full of love and gratitude.

He could only smile down at her, a piece of the life he thought he’d lost when the prison fell.

“You should get some rest, too,” he told her, and she beamed at him.

“I will,” she said. “I’m just too excited, right now.” And she leaned up, and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek.

Happiness swelled in his chest, and he wrapped her in both arms, kissing the top of her head. She giggled, and he let Daryl pull him over to the couch, and set him next to Carol.

“You stay there,” Daryl groused at both of them.

Rick exchanged a look with Carol, who looked unusually tolerant of Daryl’s overprotective antics. “We’ll be fine,” she said, and she was smiling but her voice was so thin and tired.

Rick though maybe Daryl also wanted some backup over here, taking care of Carol, and he nodded seriously to the other man. “We’ll be here.”

Daryl nodded gruffly, and went back to help Glenn and Maggie. While Sasha took first watch, Daryl broke a small hole in a window for ventilation and built a small fire, just enough to boil some water and cook some of the pasta. Maggie found a jar of red sauce, and they threw in a bunch of walnuts and a whole jar of that shelf-stable parmesan cheese that wouldn’t have lasted anyway now it was open.

They had plenty of bowls for once, and silverware, and as Daryl passed around bowls of cheesey, tomato-y pasta it started to get dark, and a little chilly, but they were warm enough inside, and Maggie lit a few candles while Glenn fixed blankets over the windows, and the whole apartment filled with the warm glow and the rich smell of the food, and they felt safe enough that Sasha came over to sit with everyone around the sectional. 

They were giddy with relief. Beth was telling Maggie terrible things about her time in the hospital, but smiling and laughing like it had all been a joke, or had happened to someone else, and Maggie kept setting her bowl down to hug her sister, and Noah sat near them and added to the stories he knew about, turning his trip down the elevator shaft into a grand adventure rather than a terrifying fall. Carol was fading, but the food and laughter seemed to help, and as Rick ate he felt able to relax more and more, feeling sort of detached from them all, not quite following Beth’s stories but enjoying the laughter, watching them all happily.

At one point Beth winced, and everyone tensed, thinking something might be wrong, but she set down her bowl and pulled a pair of scissors out of her cast, tossing them aside with a nonchalance that had Maggie almost in tears.

“It must have been so awful,” Maggie said, hugging Beth to her.

Daryl, sitting in the corner across from the couch, seemed to shrink in on himself, and Rick remembered their conversation after he’d ripped that bastard’s throat out with his teeth. Daryl blamed himself for losing Beth, he remembered, and felt like he had to do something.

Standing took more effort than he reasonably thought it should. His head, which had been clearer all day when he’d been high on adrenaline and nerves, was now shot through with pain and dizziness. Moving carefully, he walked on stiff legs over to where Daryl was curled up on the plush carpet, and lowered himself slowly to sit next to him. He crossed his legs, Indian style they used to call it, and his knee bumped Daryl’s. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly, trying to keep the others from worrying. 

Daryl ducked his head, but peered up at Rick through his shaggy hair.

“Losing Beth. That could’ve happened to anyone.”

“But it didn’t.”

“That ain’t on you,” Rick said, putting one hand on Daryl’s knee.

Daryl jerked, knocking into his bowl so that it teetered but didn’t fall over. Rick withdrew his hand, guilt pouring through him. He knew Daryl didn’t like to be touched without warning. He had wanted to make Daryl feel better, not worse. “Sorry,” he said, looking down. He’d forgotten his rule for a second – always let Daryl initiate touch.

“For what?” Daryl snapped, and he looked angry, and Rick’s heart sank.

“I just, you know, wanted to say you could be happy Beth is back,” Rick murmured. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Daryl huffed a breath, and caught his sleeve as he started to stand up. “Ain’t what I meant,” he said, still sounding frustrated. 

“Okay,” Rick said, settling back into place. He felt lost. “What did you mean?”

“Just eat your damn spaghetti,” Daryl said gruffly, shifting so that their knees were touching again.

Rick looked down to where their bodies touched. The others were still joking and laughing, and the sound washed over Rick like distant waves, words he could hear but not understand. Daryl was quiet, and Rick wanted to push him, wanted to find out what was going on in Daryl’s head.

But Rick was hurting, a dull pain that rolled over him the longer he sat up, and he swayed where he was sitting.

“I think I’m going to lie down,” he said slowly, looking down at his empty bowl. 

Daryl looked at him, jaw working. “Take one of the beds.”

“Oh, I’ll be okay…” he started to say, looking around for someplace to stretch out. Carol was on the couch, but the plush carpet was starting to look good.

“Just take the damn bed,” Daryl snapped.

Rick jerked around to face him, shocked. Daryl got angry often, but rarely at him. “I—”

“You should sleep in a bed,” Beth added, and Rick realized Daryl’s raised voice had alerted the rest of them.

“Yeah, we’ll be sharing one,” Glenn said, and Maggie huffed out a laugh, swatting his arm.

Rick couldn’t resist smiling a little. “What about Beth?” he asked, looking to see what she thought.

“That bed in the master’s a king,” she said, scoffing. “Glenn and Maggie ain’t hogging the whole thing.”

The other two bedrooms had full-size mattresses, and the third had been set up as an office. 

“I can’t take up a whole bedroom to myself,” Rick muttered, looking down.

“Well then we’ll fucking share, will that make you happy?” Daryl barked.

Rick gaped at him, having expected anything else as an answer. “What about Noah, and Sasha?” he asked dumbly.

“I’ll be fine on a couple of couch cushions in the office,” Noah offered, looking hesitant to step in.

“So Sasha can take the other bedroom, okay?” Maggie said, her tone of voice sort of too reasonable.

“I guess,” Rick said.

“We don’t have to share,” Daryl offered then. “I was just joking.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s fine, I didn’t mean. Of course we can.”

“Then it’s settled,” Carol said from her perch on the sectional, her voice sounding weak and thready. “Can we all get some sleep, now?”

Realizing they were keeping her up, they all scattered. They all took turns brushing their teeth, the toothpaste a rare luxury anymore, and scavenging clean clothes to sleep in. When Rick took his turn, he brushed until his gums bled, running the toothbrush over his tongue and even the insides of his cheeks, trying to get rid of the now-familiar fuzzy feeling. 

“I found these,” Maggie said, pausing in the doorway with an armful of clothes. He met her eyes in the mirror, and she smiled, handing him a pair of pajama bottoms. They were navy plaid, and felt soft in his hands.

“Thanks,” he said, spraying little flecks of toothpaste foam across the mirror, and making Maggie laugh. He rinsed his mouth quickly, feeling sheepish.

“You need some help with your bandages?” she asked, still breathless with giggling.

“No, I mean, maybe in the morning?” 

“Go on,” Daryl said, shoving through the door past Maggie. “I’ll do it. Go on to bed.”

Maggie caught him in a one-armed hug, overflowing with the joy of having her sister back. “You guys get some sleep, too,” she said, and left, and then Rick was alone in the bathroom with Daryl.

There was just the one small candle they’d set up by the sink. Daryl was carrying another with him, and he shoved Rick aside to rifle through the medicine cabinet.

Rick must have been even more tired than he thought. When Daryl pushed him, the backs of his legs bumped up against the edge of the toilet, and he stumbled, sitting abruptly on the closed seat. 

“You’re a mess,” Daryl said, not even looking at him. He still sounded kind of mad, and Rick had to wonder what the other man was thinking. Their plan had worked, they had saved Beth and Carol, wasn’t that a good thing?

Rick couldn’t think of anything to say. Daryl found gauze and a little tube of ointment, and using a little of their water cleaned up the crease at Rick’s temple. Brushing aside Rick’s hair, he carefully poured a little water over the healing wound, then some hydrogen peroxide. It stung, and Rick hissed, trying to pull away. They hadn’t had the luxury of this many medical supplies in a long time, and he was not used to the sting of disinfectants any more. 

Daryl caught his head and held him in place, pouring a little more of the stinging liquid as if to punish Rick for moving. Rick tried to hold still, feeling very put upon.

But the rest of the bandaging went more smoothly. Daryl squeezed ointment directly onto the wound, not touching it, letting the bandage seal the ointment over his skin. And it did feel better once it was covered, throbbing less at least.

“Thank you,” Rick said quietly.

“We ain’t done,” Daryl said, sitting back. “Get your damn pants off.”

The bullet wound. Rick looked down. He’d kind of hoped no one would make him deal with that tonight. 

He didn’t want to know what kind of mess waited underneath the filthy denim. He hadn’t had a chance to really clean up since Terminus, and while he’d gained a new shirt, and then a new jacket, pants had seemed to be in short supply, so he’d just endured the stiff, scratchy jeans.

Daryl seemed to understand the reason for his hesitance, saying, “You’ll have to take care of it sometime. Might as well be before you get into that nice, clean bed.”

And Rick remembered that Daryl had been the one to clean him up after … everything. This wouldn’t be anything new to him.

“Yeah, fine,” he sighed, moving to fumble at his belt. His fingers felt thick and clumsy, and after a few minutes of trying Daryl batted his hands aside and worked his belt open with strong, quick movements. 

Getting his jeans unbuttoned, Daryl muttered, “Up,” and when Rick lifted his hips pulled his jeans down roughly. They were stuck to his lower legs with dried blood, and Rick’s stomach turned as Daryl worked the stiff fabric down. 

He paused, looking down at Rick’s legs. “Should’ve done your boots first,” he sighed.

Rick snorted a laugh, feeling lightheaded. He leaned forward, putting a hand on Daryl’s shoulder to keep himself upright. Daryl ignored him this time, not jerking away, and yanked Rick’s boots off, only mocking his holey socks a little, and tugging Rick’s jeans down and off.

“Need to clean this up,” Daryl said, and Rick could only nod in agreement.

With surprisingly gentle hands, Daryl sponged the dried blood from Rick’s legs, working carefully around the dirty bandage still wrapped around Rick’s thigh. That, he soaked with clean water, and left it to soften while he worked on the rest of Rick’s legs.

Rick held onto Daryl’s shoulder while he worked, leaning further and further forward as weariness swept through him. Daryl’s gentle touches were luring him into a sort of daze, and by the time Daryl got the dirty bandage off, Rick was half asleep.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Daryl said, sounding surprised. 

Rick looked at the wound. It was healing, which he hadn’t been expecting; the wound was ragged and the flesh around it badly bruised, but it had scabbed over. It looked nasty, but was actually doing better, and Daryl seemed relieved as he spread ointment and applied a fresh bandage. 

He then dried Rick’s legs, and helped him into the clean pajama pants, and it felt almost luxurious to Rick after so long without anyone to show him this kind of care.

When he finally curled up in the stale bedding, Daryl covered him in the thin blanket and left the room, muttering something about getting ready for bed. Rick had a momentary thought of waiting, but he was asleep almost before he realized it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure when I should be adding tags, as things happen or after they happen so I don't spoil things?


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They gain a little space for recovery, and find a few good surprises before leaving Atlanta.

When Rick woke, it was just getting light out, and he was curled in Daryl’s arms.

They were both under a thin quilt, blue and yellow squares, and Rick was lying on his side facing the door. Daryl was curled up behind him, one strong arm slung over Rick’s chest. 

He felt warm, and secure in a way he hadn’t since … maybe since the prison, the good days, when he had nothing to worry about beyond tilling the soil and getting Carl back on the right path. 

Daryl’s bare skin was warm against his back, and Rick thought maybe it should feel strange. He hadn’t been relaxed enough to undress since the prison fell. But it mostly felt comfortable. Safe. 

And like he’d die if he didn’t get a piss soon.

He stirred, trying to sneak out from Daryl’s grip without waking him. As soon as he moved, though, Daryl’s grip tightened, pulling him in closer with a dissatisfied grumble. 

He put a hand over Daryl’s where it was wrapped around him and tried to lift it up.

Daryl made a noise of protest, tossing Rick’s hand off and squeezing him tight like a kid with a teddy bear. Rick _oof_ ed, and Daryl threw a leg over him.

“I can’t breathe,” he managed, voice hoarse like he’d been screaming.

“Huh?” Daryl mumbled, clearly still not awake.

“Daryl, hey, Daryl,” he muttered, tugging on Daryl’s hand.

“What are you doing?” Daryl asked, sounding bewildered. His grip loosened, but only slightly.

“I gotta get up, man,” Rick said, voice louder now he could breathe. 

“Why? It’s warm.”

“I really gotta piss, Daryl, let me up.”

“Shit, sorry,” Daryl said, and turned over, curling up on his other side and, as far as Rick could tell, immediately falling back asleep.

“I guess we’re all feeling safer,” Rick muttered to himself, and eased off the mattress.

A lot of toilets, the kinds that had tank reservoirs, would still flush as long as you added water – gravity took care of the rest. So Rick had his piss, feeling almost civilized, then wandered into the living room. 

Carol, where she was propped up with what looked like all the cushions, stirred, and pushed herself up a little as he came in. She waved him over, so Rick went and sat next to her on the couch, wrapping one of the decorative throws around his bare shoulders. 

“How are you holding up?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“I’ll be able to travel,” she said, patting his arm. “Daryl still asleep?”

“He barely budged when I woke up,” Rick admitted.

“He must be exhausted,” Carol said tenderly. 

“Did he stay up long?” he asked, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees.

“I think he was pacing most of the night,” she said, looking at him kind of sideways. “I guess you two didn’t talk last night?”

“Uh, no. Not really.” Rick looked down, rubbing one bare arm. “Did he keep you up?”

“Off and on.” She smiled wearily. “I’m fine, though.”

“I’m sure he is, too.” Rick sighed, running a hand through his sleep-tangled curls. “He’s just worried about everyone.”

Carol patted his hand again, then pulled her arm back under her blanket, shivering theatrically. “I’ll doze a while longer, I think.”

He left her to it, and wandered into the kitchen, feeling a bit hungry. As he was looking through the cabinets for anything they hadn’t packed away, Sasha joined him.

“You weren’t still on watch, were you?” he asked her, concern roughening his voice.

She chuckled a little. “I traded off with Glenn, got a good seven hours of sleep. Don’t worry so much.”

He ducked his head. “Can’t help it sometimes.”

Her grin softened. “I know.” The corners of her eyes turned up a little, in a way he’d seen her watching some of Bob’s antics. “You’re a good man, Rick Grimes.”

He pulled the throw tighter around him, shrugging, and couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

She relented, saying, “I’m hungry,” and breaking the moment.

They turned up some hot chocolate mix, the kind that just needed water, and Sasha relit the small fire and started boiling water so at least they could all have something hot to drink. Rick found a big thing of oats on the top shelf of the pantry behind a few empty jars, and when he took it down it felt a little more than half full. Raiding some of the dried fruit that had already been stored for travel, and some nuts, he threw together what he hoped would be enough for the eight of them. 

“I miss having milk with oatmeal,” Sasha moaned, as Maggie and Beth stumbled out to join them.

“I think there was a can of evaporated milk,” Beth said, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. 

“We might as well splurge,” Maggie said, putting her arm around Beth’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Rick said. “Why not?”

Beth found the can of milk where it had been stashed in her pack, and they added it to the oatmeal. The smell was filling the space, the warm smell of oatmeal and the rich chocolate as Sasha poured out cups of it. The smell started to draw the others, Glenn following soon after the girls, Noah peeking his head into the room hesitantly, then Daryl coming out as the others started to eat.

“Y’all make a hell of a lot of noise,” he said as he came in, stretching his back and accepting a bowl with a smile. 

“You get enough sleep?” Rick asked, licking some of the milk off his spoon.

Daryl ducked his head. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Glenn said, “for waking you up.”

“Said it’s fine.” Daryl shoved himself into the space between Rick and Carol, forcing Rick to move so she didn’t get crushed. 

“We should check a few of the other apartments before we go,” Rick said as he scooted over.

“I did a scout of the hallway,” Glenn said. “Looks like two other places on this floor are still locked up.”

“What? When?” Rick asked, looking at the others.

“Rick, you went to bed at, like, seven,” Glenn said, laughing a little. Maggie nodded when he looked at her, and Rick shrugged, looking down.

“Guess I was tired,” he said, and Daryl snorted, like he’d admitted something. Rick glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, and Daryl knocked their knees together. And then left his leg pressed all along Rick’s thigh. 

Rick didn’t move, wasn’t sure if he should. He just looked down at his bowl, and ran his spoon through the bits left at the bottom. Daryl’s warmth seeped through the thin pajama bottoms, and Rick shivered a little bit as the scrap of heat made the rest of him feel cold.

And Daryl still didn’t move.

Glenn scraped the last of the oatmeal out of his bowl, and stood. “I’ll get started on the first place,” he said. “I want to get on the road before too long.”

“I’ll come with you,” Maggie said quickly, rushing to finish her share of the food. “Beth, you’ll stay here?”

“I could help,” she offered. The tone of her voice briefly reminded Rick of Carl, demanding to be taken seriously. Rick had never known how to explain he did take his son seriously.

“I’d feel better if someone stayed with Carol,” Maggie said, and Carol made herself look slightly more pathetic until Beth agreed.

Glenn gave Beth one of the extra guns they’d bought, then he, Maggie and Sasha left to start scavenging. 

“We’ll hit the other apartment,” Rick said, mostly a question, to Daryl.

Daryl looked at him, brows lowering. “Get dressed,” he said, licking his fingers. “Then we’ll go.”

Rick tugged at the throw self-consciously. “Didn’t have anything clean.”

“There’s some more stuff in the master,” Beth offered, her eyes twinkling brightly.

“Alright,” Rick said. “I can take a hint.” 

He went looking through the closet in the master bedroom. There were a lot of empty hangers, and it was sort of comforting thinking this family had at least evacuated, but he found a checkered blue button-down that was a pretty good fit, and a pair of jeans in one of the dressers that were only a little too big, mostly in length. He cinched them up with his belt, getting the holster settled and tucking in the extra fabric of the shirt, and stole some clean socks before forcing his feet back into his battered boots. He left his leather jacket for now, and went back to the living room, rolling up his sleeves as he went.

“You ready?” he asked Daryl, and Daryl nodded, wiping his mouth with a forearm as he stood.

“Be careful,” Beth said, and Noah, next to her, gave Rick what seemed like a significant nod. 

“Back soon,” he promised, looking for a moment to Carol, who smiled at him reassuringly.

Rick realized he didn’t know where this apartment was. He paused in the hallway, settling one hand on the butt of his pistol. 

“This way,” Daryl grunted, leading him to the right.

“Glenn already know which one we’re looking at?”

“We talked about it last night.” 

They didn’t go far. Daryl stopped in front of the locked door of the next apartment down, across the hall. He pried it open with his big knife and one shoulder, and burst in on a walker.

Daryl ducked down as it reached for him. A woman, barely, still in a nightdress, her hair stringy with rot. Rick pulled his knife and lunged forward, getting it in the head. Shoving its body aside, he reached for Daryl.

“You okay?” His heart was hammering in his chest.

“M’fine,” Daryl muttered, looking down at the body. “Think she was alone?”

Rick looked around the rest of the apartment. It was a copy of the one they’d stayed the night in, but smaller, only two bedrooms and one bath. The rest of it was empty of walkers, and Rick thought the woman must have killed herself soon after the beginning, given her state of decay and the amount of food left in the cabinets.

“Found this,” Daryl said as he emerged from one of the bedrooms, holding up a blue duffle bag.

“Great,” Rick said. His head was still stuck in a cabinet, and his voice echoed hollowly. “There’s a lot left, really.”

“Wonder if the whole city is like this,” Daryl said, coming to help him with the food.

“Might be how that hospital is getting by,” Rick suggested.

“Yeah, I guess,” Daryl said, shrugging.

“Too risky to keep looking, though,” Rick murmured, pulling out a can of beans and stacking it on top of another on the counter. That last trip through the city, finding Guillermo’s people cleaned out, had made him wary of population centers. Even firepower and the best of intentions couldn’t keep you safe against larger numbers. 

Daryl just nodded, focusing on his job. 

They worked quietly for a few minutes, filling the duffle and finding enough that Daryl had to go looking for another bag. He found a small backpack, and they filled it, too. Rick looked around the apartment, feeling almost bewildered. They’d had such trouble finding good salvage, and here was a bonanza of food and medical supplies, just when they needed it. It almost felt like fate, he thought.

“Should clear out the bathroom,” Daryl said after a while, hefting the heavy duffle over his shoulder, the muscles of his biceps bulging under the weight.

Rick took the backpack. It was full enough to seem heavy, which made him feel weak, especially next to Daryl. He followed Daryl more slowly to the small bathroom, and stood in the doorway while Daryl cleaned out the medicine cabinet and the cabinets under the sink. He propped one shoulder against the doorjamb, resting his head against the dusty wood.

Daryl seemed to grow nervous under the scrutiny, moving faster, and slamming the cabinet doors when he was done.

“You okay?” Rick asked.

“Why?” Daryl growled.

Rick blinked. “I don’t know. You just seem tense all of a sudden.”

Daryl’s shoulders hunched up around his ears defensively. 

Rick sighed, rocking his head against the doorjamb. “If I did something …”

Daryl snorted, tilting his head so he could meet Rick’s eyes in the mirror over the sink. “It weren’t that,” he said.

“Then what?” Rick asked. His voice sounded plaintive even to himself, and he bit down on any further words.

Daryl looked like he might answer for a moment, but then his expression crumpled, and he turned his back on Rick firmly and didn’t speak again until they returned to Carol and the others.

She watched them enter the apartment with a skeptical eye, and when Daryl stomped straight back to the master bedroom motioned Rick over. Beth and Noah were huddled together in the kitchen on counter-height stools, talking in hushed tones. Rick lowered the backpack to the floor, straightening himself slowly, and sat beside her with a grateful huff of air.

“So you talked?” she asked expectantly. 

Rick blinked. “Not really.” He thought for a second, then asked suspiciously, “Why?”

Carol sighed, then forced a smile. “No reason.” She patted his leg, like she had earlier, and he kind of looked down at her hand, starting to wonder what was going on. “Find anything good?”

“Um, yeah. A lot of food, a box of tampons, some rubbing alcohol I think,” he murmured distractedly. “So did Daryl tell you he needed to talk to me?”

“How are we planning to get back?” she asked, as if he hadn’t spoken. “I hope there’s enough room for all these supplies.”

He squinted at her. “Carol…”

She patted his arm briskly. “Don’t worry about it, Rick. Help me up? I should try walking before the others get back.”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” he said, but stood up and offered her a hand.

Beth saw what they were doing, and jumped off her stool in a bit of a panic, rushing over. “What are you doing, you’re too hurt!”

“What all exactly is wrong?” Rick asked, still holding out a hand for her but not sure what to do if she took it.

“Internal injuries,” Beth said, rounding the sofa and crouching next to Carol.

Rick waited, but no more was forthcoming. “That’s kinda general,” he said. “What did they do for her?”

“Nothing,” Beth said bitterly. “I gave her some epinephrine to get her blood pressure up,” and that last was said as if a recitation, “but they gave up on her.”

“Then it can’t be that bad,” Carol said reasonably, “if I’m still kicking.”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful,” Rick started to say, but she grabbed his hand in a strong grip, and as Maggie, Glenn and Sasha came back through the front door, laughing and carrying heavy bags, Carol was on her feet. She was favoring one heavily, and Rick worried that it might be sprained, or broken.

“Looks like we’re ready to go?” Glenn asked, looking around.

Beth sighed, but nodded.

They packed up and got ready to move out. Carol claimed she didn’t need the wheelchair, but she would need help walking. After a few minutes Daryl reemerged from the bedroom and tossed Rick’s jacket to him, hoisting his crossbow by its strap. 

“I’ll get a car, bring it around,” he said, and before anyone could offer to go with him he was gone.

Rick stared at the empty doorway, sudden worry darting through him. 

“Has he been like this long?” Beth asked no one in particular, looking around at the others. “All … moody?”

Rick shrugged, still feeling confused about Daryl’s erratic behavior, supportive one minute and hostile the next. 

Glenn sighed, and said, “Just for a week or so,” but with a sort of significance, like he knew something.

Terminus had been a little more than a week ago, Rick thought, though he wasn’t sure. His sense of time couldn’t be trusted. Time stretching like a piece of saltwater taffy, or speeding so fast he couldn’t keep track.

“We should be ready for when he gets back,” Carol said, hustling them toward the supplies.

Thankful for the distraction, Rick picked up a couple of bags, and followed the others out of the apartment.

Pausing in the door, he looked back at the living room. The space seemed a little sad, now, but it had provided a refuge for the night, and in a way he supposed he would miss this place.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They return to the church, to reunions, revelations, and another concussion.

Daryl turned the corner at a fast clip, screeching to a halt just before the building’s doors in a minivan. They piled up the back, even storing some of it in between the seats and propping their feet on the bags and boxes of supplies, with just enough room for all of them. 

Rick called shotgun, climbing into the front, and not five minutes after they’d started Daryl peeled out again, pushing the limits of the slow vehicle as the first walkers shambled around the far corner of the high-rise.

“Everything quiet out there?” Rick asked Daryl as they reached the exit for the highway.

“Quiet enough,” Daryl said, watching the road. “Siphoned some extra gas on my way, loaded it into the back.”

“That’s great,” Rick said. “We’ll probably need it.” His voice was a little too spritely, having realized that Daryl was talking to him again. “Good thinking.”

Daryl glanced at him from the corner of his eye, looking a little weirded out. “Thanks, I guess.”

Rick bit his lip, feeling wrong-footed.

“And get your damn seatbelt on,” Daryl said, and Rick fumbled for the buckle.

It wasn’t a long drive back to the church, and they were fairly silent for most of it. Rick commented on stuff as they drove by, a walker in a field, an overturned car, a few other things. Daryl either didn’t respond or grunted, not looking away from the road. Eventually Rick fell silent, too, feeling confused as Daryl seemed to grow distant, unhappier than he’d imagined upon Beth’s rescue.

Daryl was probably still blaming himself for losing her, Rick thought, and kept gnawing at his lower lip as he tried to think of a way to help his friend feel absolution.

He hadn’t thought of one by the time they pulled up outside the church, driving right up to it this time on the wide dirt path, jumping out as the big church doors swung open and the others spilled out of the flung-open doors to greet them.

The air was split with the sounds of laughter, excited chattering, everything Rick had expected and he looked around at everyone, his family (plus a few others) finally reunited, beaming at them.

Carol was much fussed over, helped into the church by probably too many people, and Beth even more so – everyone had to hug her, or at least touch her, as if no one could believe she was real until they’d felt her warm skin and received one of her beaming smiles, like the sun returning to them. 

Carl was blushing, where he basked in Beth’s smiling presence. Rick remembered his son’s crush, which might have just been re-awoken, and chuckled at the thought. 

Behind the larger cluster of people, Rick saw Sasha run up to Bob, and Bob swing her up in his arms, both grinning into a kiss, like she’d been gone a lot longer than a day. Tyreese greeted Noah with a firm handshake, man to man. Beth saw Judith on her back, and broke away from Maggie to dote over the toddler.

Rosita and Abraham seemed to be missing in all the chaos, and Rick looked around for them briefly, failing to spot Eugene either. Part of him wondered if (hoped) they might have just taken off on their own.

Watching all this, Rick stayed by the door of the van, trying not to let anyone notice that he was hanging onto its frame to remain upright. 

Relief had a way of draining whatever it was that allowed him to power through his injuries. He thought of his time in Terminus, the moment in the box car and on the roof when he’d nearly given up, but how the anger had allowed him to push on. 

Now, he didn’t think he could walk into the church.

Someone came up behind him, and he knew it was Daryl, just by the feeling of solidity and warmth at his back.

“Something to see,” Daryl drawled, watching the celebration. Michonne looked over and smiled at them. Rick waved to her, and she started inside, one arm around Carl, who kept bending around to look over at Beth.

“We can be happy,” Rick said, not entirely believing it himself but wanting to convince Daryl for some reason. “We earned this.”

And this time Daryl nodded, nudging Rick’s shoulder with his own. “We should get the supplies in.”

Rick looked down at his hand, the knuckles white where he was gripping the van’s door. “Um,” he started.

“Fer christ’s sake,” Daryl said. “Didn’t mean you. Get inside before you fall down.”

“Well,” Rick said contemplatively. “Might, um, might just stay here for a bit.”

“You about to fall over?” Daryl asked, squinting at him.

“No?” Rick tried experimentally. 

Daryl snorted. “Come on,” he said, and put one strong arm around Rick’s waist and, seemingly without effort, hauled him into the church.

Rick panicked briefly, looking around for Abraham. The last thing he needed was for the redheaded giant to see how weak he was, to think he couldn’t walk on his own. He struggled for a couple of steps, only for Daryl to jostle him in a familiar, chiding way. He stilled, biting his lip in apprehension as they limped inside.

But no one seemed to notice, occupied with Beth’s stories about the hospital, and Carol picking up to explain how she got captured, too, and then Glenn sketching out their brilliant rescue, hands gesturing animatedly, while Maggie smiled at him, warm and indulgent. 

With all that going on, Daryl managed to get Rick over to one of the benches, and sat him down slowly, so that the dizziness didn’t get worse.

Rick patted his arm, smiling up at him wearily.

Daryl stared down at him for a moment, and his expression was so strange that Rick felt the smile starting to fade. 

Daryl shook himself, like he’d just woken up, and left without another word, tapping Carl on the shoulder and dragging him out to help unload the van. Carl went happily enough, and Rick watched them leave, unable to make sense of any of Daryl’s behavior anymore. 

Michonne came over to sit next to him, propping her hands on her knees. “Everything okay? Should we be expecting company?”

Rick shook his head. “Don’t think so. We made a deal with some of the Grady people, and I think they’ll hold their end of it.” His optimism felt new, and dangerous, but he clung to it.

“Good. Maybe we can get some more rest before we have to hit the road,” she said, smiling softly at the reunion before them.

“Wouldn’t mind that,” Rick admitted, feeling a little like he was fading.

“So, it looked like you and Daryl got a chance to talk?” Michonne asked gently, and Rick suddenly remembered Carol’s odd questions from last night and this morning, and he turned to demand some straight answers out of her.

But just then Abraham stormed into the church, Eugene following him more slowly, wringing his hands, and Rick had a horrible feeling.

The chatter stilled as everyone turned warily toward Abraham, who stomped straight up to the altar and turned to face them like a preacher before his congregation. Eugene remained closer to the door, radiating anxiety.

“Abraham?” Glenn asked, breaking the sudden silence.

“I am sure happy for you all,” Abraham said, not sounding particularly happy. “But it is time to _go_. The bus is fixed, thanks to me and Eugene, and while this is heartwarming and all we got more important places to be.”

While he was speaking, Daryl and Carl trailed slowly in, both loaded down with bags, though Daryl was carrying far more than Carl. They both stopped near the door, watching Abraham warily. Rosita poked her head in after them, and moved up to stand by Eugene once she saw what was happening.

“Carol’s pretty hurt,” Glenn said then, his brow crinkled with concern. “She really shouldn’t travel, not right away.”

Carol twitched a small smile, but kept her eyes on Abraham.

“She can rest on the bus,” Abraham said forcefully. “Plenty of room to stretch out.”

“And Rick’s in no condition to leave,” Sasha said, and Rick tried to sit up a little straighter, wanting to seem able. “We could all use some time to recover.”

“Time to recover could get us all killed,” Abraham said. “We are at war, people, and the longer we sit here waiting for that group in Atlanta to hit us for supplies or revenge the worse it’s gonna be.”

“No one followed us,” Daryl said, subtly easing closer to where Rick was sitting, Carl at his shoulder. “Made sure of that.”

“You think,” Abraham snorted. “But you can’t be sure.” 

“Daryl’s the best at tracking,” Rick said, trying to make his voice sound stronger than it was. “If he says no one followed us then no one did.”

“I respect that you put faith in your people,” Abraham said, sounding very much like he was forcing himself to be patient. “Sign of a good leader. But I have an obligation to my people, too. We need to get to Washington, and if that means leaving some of you behind …”

“We are not splitting up,” Rick snarled, and Maggie snapped, “I’m not leaving my family again.”

“Glenn,” Abraham snapped. “You know what’s at stake. You know why we have to do this.”

“And we will,” Glenn said, hands up like he could sooth Abraham from a distance. “We’re with you, right Rick?”

And Rick nodded. “If Glenn says DC is a good idea, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Glenn caught his eye for a moment, grateful for the support, and Rick nodded back. Glenn continued, “But it doesn’t have to be today. Right now. We can take the night.”

“There’s no sense starting just before dark,” Maggie said, interjecting a voice of reason.

Abraham shook his head. “We could be twenty miles away by dawn, we could be up that road in another town, there is _no_ reason to delay.”

“Man, I told you no one followed us,” Daryl said, starting to set down the packs slung over his broad shoulders. “We’ll be fine here a day or two.”

“Carol needs longer than that,” Beth said, her voice thin but brave. “She’s really hurt.”

Carol patted her hand, trying to shush her. Abraham twitched, like he wanted to throw something, and Michonne said, “We’d get further if we were rested,” and Tyreese tried to say something then, and there were other objections, voices rising. Abraham getting redder as more people objected to his plan.

“We had a deal!” Abraham roared the words over the din, but it did nothing to quiet the others, even Rosita trying to remonstrate with him, yelling, “I want us to actually get there, Abe. Maybe we’re always stopping because we never start at one hundred percent.”

“You just want us to stop!” Abraham yelled at her like he was accusing her of something, and she blanched, Tara stepping up beside her and yelling something Rick didn’t catch. The noise was rising, and he tried to stand but it didn’t happen. Michonne shifted beside him and Maggie had a hand on her gun.

And Eugene was standing silent in the middle of it all, his face crumpled with worry as the noise only got worse.

Abraham’s face settled into something severe, determined, and he strode forward, grabbing Eugene by the arm. “We’re going. Rosita, come on!”

“Woah, let go of him,” Glenn said, starting forward. Rick got to his feet, swaying but reaching for his gun.

“Abraham, wait,” Rosita said, grabbing his arm. But Abraham kept going, not even seeming to notice.

Eugene said something then. 

No one heard what it was, but Abraham must have been looking at him. He stopped.

Abraham waved everyone quiet, and remarkably everyone stilled, noticing his intense focus on the trembling scientist.

“What did you just say?” Abraham asked. His grip on Eugene’s arm visibly tightened.

Eugene gulped, and he seemed on the verge of tears. “I said that, um, there’s. There’s nothing there.”

“What?” The way Abraham said it, it wasn’t really a question.

Eugene was crying now, trying to squirm out of Abraham’s hold. “I’m not a scientist. I lied.” He finally pulled away from Abraham, or Abraham let him go; the big redhead stood as if frozen. “I don’t know how to stop it. I’m not a scientist.”

There was silence for a moment. Rick sat back down abruptly, his heart sinking.

Rosita said, “You are a scientist. I’ve seen the things you can do.” She looked like her world was falling apart.

“I just know things,” Eugene said, cringing. 

“You just ‘know things’?” Glenn demanded incredulously.

“I know I’m smarter than most people,” Eugene said, straightening a little. “I know I’m a very good liar, and I know I needed to get to DC.”

“For the cure?” Rick had to ask, had to know. Wanted there to still be hope.

“There’s no cure. Not that I know of. But I do believe that locale holds the strongest possibility for survival, and I wanted to survive.”

Abraham’s face looked like it was carved of stone. Everyone was still, stunned.

“If I could cheat some people into taking me there, well, I just reasoned that I’d be doing them a solid, too, considering the perilous state of the city of Houston, the state of everything.” There was a kind of dignity to him, then, as he tried to explain away his massive lie.

“People _died_ trying to get you here,” Rosita exclaimed.

“I’m aware of that,” Eugene said, watery-eyed but standing strong. “Stephanie, Warren, Pam, Rex, Roger, Josiah, Dirk, and Josephine.”

The list of names was slightly staggering, and Rick saw Bob put a hand on Sasha’s shoulder, as if to remind her they were okay. The lines of pain in Rosita’s face deepened. Abraham leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees, like something in him had been damaged.

“Now, you might want to leave me here,” Eugene said, looking at the others, as if for forgiveness. “I was scared, I’m not good at killing or hunting or anything, I needed someone to keep me alive.”

“You made it up?” Abraham asked, not looking up, and there was something deadly in his voice. Rick held his breath, watching the confrontation. “There’s no cure?”

“What about that stuff you said while we were in Terminus?” Sasha demanded, shrugging off Bob’s hand. “Fighting fire with fire?”

“Sounded good, right?” Eugene said with a trembling smile. “Again, I _am_ smarter than you.”

And.

Before anyone realized what was happening, Abraham planted one giant fist in Eugene’s face. 

Eugene dropped instantly, the thump of his body hitting the boards (limp, like a dead body) rousing them, and Rick pushed himself up as Daryl leapt forward and tried to grab Abraham’s raised arm.

Glenn ran forward, and Tyreese was trying to hand off Judith, who started to wail. Michonne reached for the hem of Rick’s shirt, but missed as he moved to back Daryl, instinctively, as Daryl was shaken off with terrifying ease, rolling across the floor. 

Abraham reached down for Eugene’s limp body, lifting him by the front of his shirt and smashing that massive hand into Eugene’s still face once, again. Bob was coming up behind him but he was still too far away. It had to be now. 

Rick grabbed Abraham in a choke hold while he was leaning over, but it happened just like he’d known it would. Abraham simply straightened up, Rick’s weight no obstacle, and flung one arm back, and—

Rick was on the floor.

His head hurt.

There was yelling. 

It sounded distant, like faint echoes. 

He rolled his head to one side. Rosita was crouched next to Eugene, who was terrifyingly still. Bob was at Abraham’s feet, his nose bleeding, Glenn standing over him and yelling in Abraham’s face, fearless, while Tyreese and Daryl were coming up from behind and Maggie had thrust Beth and Carol behind her, gun out and ready.

He saw it like snapshots. Odd, frozen moments that seemed to advance as he blinked.

It all seemed very far away.

For a moment, he thought he saw a figure in white standing behind the others. He tilted his head up to look.

But. 

More must have happened. He didn’t remember any of it.

There was just darkness, and a weird, echoing sort of quiet.

Then.

There was a hand pressed to the side of his face. It was a big, square hand, with rough, calloused skin, and it felt warm.

“Rick?!” a voice called, “Rick!”

Rick forced his eyes open, and Daryl was leaning over him, and he looked so worried.

“Daryl?” he whispered, blinking.

Daryl’s eyes squeezed shut, like he was holding in a shudder. “You’re okay,” Daryl murmured, bending down and pressing his forehead gently to Rick’s. “You’re okay.” 

And as Rick was still blinking up at him, dazed, Daryl shifted and, cradling Rick’s face, brushed their lips together.

Daryl was kissing him?

Rick flailed with one hand, catching hold of Daryl’s vest but his grip felt weak. Daryl’s lips were surprisingly soft, he thought. But he felt frozen, shock and surprise stilling any other movement he might have made.

Before Rick could figure out what was going on, Daryl pulled away. Rick’s grip slid off too easily, and Daryl was gone. 

And Rick was staring up at the church’s white ceiling, alone.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick deals with the consequences of (another) concussion, Abraham puts them at risk, Rick and Daryl finally talk.

Michonne and Carl rushed over to him then, kneeling beside him where he was still sprawled out on the floor.

He looked around muzzily, unable to keep a thought in his head. Had Daryl just? Where was that big redheaded son of a bitch? Were his people safe? It all swam around him and his eyes were darting about, he couldn’t focus on Michonne’s face or what she was saying. Her mouth moved but no words seemed to come out, only sounds.

“What happened?” he asked, or tried to ask, but he couldn’t hear himself speaking, just far away sounds like the echoes of a distant war. 

“Dad?” Carl said, and Rick heard that, heard his son’s frantic voice through the weird din. “Dad, are you okay?”

“I think so,” he said, and this time he heard his voice. It sounded strangely distant, but everything was getting closer, and louder, and he looked to Michonne.

She smiled, touching his cheek (he winced), then his forehead. “Think you can sit up?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Rick said, and tried. With Michonne bracing him, he got himself upright, and the room spun a little. “What happened?”

“Abraham went nuts,” Carl said excitedly. “Tyreese and Daryl couldn’t even take him down, and Rosita had to threaten to shoot him.”

“Are they okay?” Rick asked, feeling alarmed.

“Yeah, Rick, everyone’s fine,” Michonne said, then frowned. “Except Eugene.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Rick asked, looking around for the fake scientist.

“He’s still unconscious,” Michonne reported. “Bob says we shouldn’t move him. Head injury.”

“And Abraham?” Rick asked warily, touching the new bruise on his cheekbone.

“He stormed off,” Carl said, eyes still very wide. “Daryl said we should let him go.”

“That’s smart thinking,” Rick said, patting Carl’s arm. “Let him cool off before we talk to him.”

“I’m not thrilled you got hit on the head again,” Michonne said darkly.

Rick shrugged. “It was more on the face.”

“That don’t make it better,” she said flatly.

He squinted at her through the throbbing pain. “I had to try.”

She sighed. “I know.”

He cut a glance at her. “You could have jumped in too, you know.”

But she didn’t get riled up, just shaking her head. “I know my strengths, and I couldn’t take down an asshole that big without killing him.”

That caused Rick to still, and she continued, “And it didn’t seem like you wanted to kill him just yet.” When he didn’t say anything, she raised one brow. “You could have just shot him from the start, not gotten yourself concussed again.”

He shrugged, looked down. “He’s not a bad man,” Rick sighed. “And that was a hell of a thing to find out.”

Michonne nodded. “Yeah.” They were quiet for a moment. “Still, Rick, that concussion….”

“I might not be concussed,” he argued, ignoring the way the outline of her body seemed to shimmy a little, pulsing in time with the spikes of pain.

Both of her eyebrows shot up. “One of your pupils is a little bigger than the other,” she pointed out, and Rick subsided.

“I really thought there might be a cure,” Carl said softly, and Rick’s heart ached for his son.

“I know, Carl,” Rick said, pulling him in for a hug. “I know.”

“Come on,” Michonne said after a moment, standing. “Let’s get you up.”

He took her outstretched hand, and she hauled him to his feet, where he swayed uneasily.

“Shit, dad,” Carl said, darting up to brace Rick’s arm as he stumbled, his feet wanting to come down on their sides, awkward beneath him.

“Language,” Rick said queasily, letting them help him back over to one of the pews. He sat heavily, and almost instinctively curled on his side, his arms shaking a little. Michonne got a wadded up blanket beneath his head, and he smiled a little in thanks.

“I’m going to check on Carol,” she said, patting his arm. “You just stay here for a bit.”

Then she was gone, and Carl sat on the floor in front of the bench, using it as a backrest. Rick stared at the back of his son’s head, feeling oddly sleepy – and knowing that wasn’t a great sign.

“Judith okay?” he asked quietly.

Carl nodded. “Tyreese took her into the rectory, said it would be less stressful in there. I think Carol’s going to take the couch.”

“That makes sense,” Rick said, and everything faded out a little. “Daryl?”

Carl seemed to know what he meant. “He went outside, too.” Then Carl turned to look at him. “Did he … kiss you?”

Rick’s eyebrows lowered in a thoughtful frown. “I’m not really clear on that, son.”

“Well, what if he did?” Carl was asking, but it started to feel very far away. “What does that mean?”

Rick thought he tried to answer then, but the blackness pulled him under.

* * *

Sometime later he woke himself vomiting.

His head was leaned over the side of the bench, and someone was rubbing his back, the broad, square hand warm through his thin shirt. His stomach heaved.

Then black again.

* * *

A figure in white leaned over him, her long dark hair just brushing his cheek.

“Lori?” he whispered.

But no one answered.

* * *

Someone was holding his head up, gently, and a bit of water spilled into his mouth.

He swallowed, and his stomach lurched, but the water stayed down.

There was another sip of water, another swallow. The fingers tangled in the curls at the back of his head were rough, scratchy against skin that felt oddly thin, defenseless. Another sip.

Then nothing.

* * *

When Rick finally came back to himself, Beth was singing.

He blinked his eyes open and found himself still on the bench, still curled on his side, the blanket scratchy beneath his head. The feeling made him think for a moment of Daryl’s hands, but he wasn’t sure why.

Someone had taken off his boots, jacket, and gun holster, and there was a second blanket draped over him. He felt a little chilled, and his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Beth was singing a sweet tune, something about a girl missing a boy, and he looked over to see a few of the others gathered around a little fire, listening to her. Glenn and Maggie were side by side, holding each other, smiling at Beth like she’d hung the moon. He didn’t see Carol, and thought he remembered Carl telling him that she would be on the couch in the rectory. Carl was sitting near Beth, watching her with stars in his eyes. Noah was also sitting nearby, and his eyes were also starry. 

Eugene was still laid out on the floor in the middle of the church. There was a blanket draped over him, and Rosita was sitting on a nearby pew, half-watching him. She saw Rick looking at them, and nodded.

It was dark out, and Rick wondered how much time had passed. If it was still the same day.

Michonne came over then, and crouched down in front of him.

“You had us worried,” she said, stroking one hand through his hair. He closed his eyes at the feeling of it. “Any better?”

“Yeah,” he said, licking his dry lips. “I think so.”

She held up a bottle of water, and he fumbled at it with fingers that felt oddly numb. She helped him, tilting the bottle for him and letting him guide it clumsily to his mouth. He guzzled down half of it, and then Bob was there, kneeling next to Michonne, trying to shine an unbearably bright light in his eyes. 

Rick tried to push himself through the back of the pew, releasing a startled yell of pain. 

Bob braced his head with a broad hand on the back of his neck, flicking the light into his eyes and away. The light blasted into his head, bright as a strobe light and about as painful. 

Rick shivered, moaned a little. Hoped Beth’s singing would cover the sound.

“It’s a concussion, alright,” Bob said, putting the light away and sitting back on his heels. 

“So what do we do?” Michonne asked.

Rick was panting shallowly, caught in a pain that was so great it was almost larger than his head, floating above it or around it.

“He needs bed rest,” Bob said, shrugging. “It doesn’t look like he’d got a bleed or anything. Only cure is rest, and time.”

“And if it gets worse?”

Bob sobered. “Then we might have to start looking for a power drill.”

Michonne’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. Rick wanted to mirror her expression, but he also didn’t want to move any part of him.

“But I don’t think it’ll come to that,” Bob said quickly. “He only vomited the once, you said?”

“Yeah, just once.”

“And his eyes are pretty much back to normal.” Bob paused, frowning. “I think it’s resolving on its own.”

“Thank god,” Michonne said, stroking Rick’s hair again.

It felt as good as it had the last time, and Rick felt his eyes drooping.

“Just get some more rest,” she said, her voice kind.

They kept talking after that, just audible beneath Beth’s singing, but he couldn’t make out the words as he faded again.

* * *

When he woke again it was still dark.

Rick was lying on his back, mostly, his arm jammed up against the back of the pew like he’d tried to roll over in his sleep. It was quiet, just the sounds of many bodies breathing and shifting, and he managed to pull himself upright by bracing himself against the end of the pew. 

His head gave a single great whirl, the whole room seeming to rotate around him, but just once, and then everything seemed almost normal. He blinked. There were a few candles, but from what he could see everyone was sleeping, long shapes covered in blankets and jackets, settled in little groups around the church floor, on or beside the pews. The fire around which they’d been gathered was still burning lowly, and Rick thought a few hours must have passed, but not too many. 

Michonne was wrapped in a blanket on the floor nearby, Carl and Judith with her, and Rick’s heart gave a little squeeze at the sight of them. 

He couldn’t put a finger on what had caused him to wake up. Looking around, he couldn’t quite tell who was sleeping, and who must be on watch. 

Something made him climb to his feet. It was a slow process, and even as he was struggling up he couldn’t explain why he was doing it. The blanket fell off and a chill worked through him. The knife at his belt had pressed into his side awkwardly, and he shifted it, rubbing at the bruise it had left. He could see Tyreese, now, against the wall near Bob and Sasha, and he spotted Maggie and Glenn near the altar, Beth tucked in against Maggie’s side as if they’d fallen asleep talking. 

Eugene was still on the floor, and Rick shuffled over to him. The fake scientist was so still. Rick wasn’t sure he was breathing, and he looked around. Someone should be watching Eugene, in case he turned.

Someone probably should have been watching Rick, too, for similar reasons.

Rosita was stretched out on the same nearby pew, but she was fast asleep, not stirring even as Rick wandered toward the big front doors, which had been left propped open, letting out the smoke and letting in a shaft of silvery moonlight. Rick felt almost drawn out to it, and he kept his arm braced against his side as he walked, slowly and hesitantly, outside.

Daryl was sitting on the church’s scant front porch, and he turned his head as Rick came out to join him. Something in Rick eased as he caught sight of Daryl, and he limped over to sit on the steps next to him. Daryl didn’t move, and Rick thought maybe they were okay.

The moonlight was bright enough that he could see Daryl’s expression, which seemed a bit forced as he turned away from Rick and back to looking at Abraham, who was kneeling in the dirt in front of the church.

Rick frowned as he spotted the redhead, who seemed to have wandered out beyond their pipe organ defensive wall and fallen to his knees only to stay there, frozen, his head bowed in despair.

“How long’s he been like that?” Rick asked, his voice gravel-rough.

“Since it happened,” Daryl said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, a quick, subtle glance that Rick barely caught.

“I, uh, don’t know how long it’s been,” he admitted, not sure how much Daryl knew about his condition.

Daryl snorted. “I dunno either. Seventeen or eighteen hours, maybe. Wasn’t keeping track.”

“Holy shit,” Rick said, not just for Abraham’s sake but also realizing how much time he’d lost. Again. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Hasn’t anyone tried to get him inside?”

“Of course,” Daryl said, shifting uncomfortably. “Rosita yelled at him, got him to drink some water. Most of it got dumped on his head, though.”

Rick couldn’t help chuckling, and Daryl’s lips twitched into a tiny bit of a grin. 

“You’re better?” he asked, finally looking at Rick again.

Rick turned to face him. “Yeah, I think I’m okay.” His stomach growled, and he ducked his head. “Hungry, though.”

Daryl was laughing at him in that quiet way he had, his eyes sort of amused, and he put a hand on Rick’s shoulder to push himself up to his feet. “We saved you some dinner. Wait here, I’ll get it.”

“Kay,” Rick said, still watching Abraham.

There was something very sad and still about the man, alone in the cold moonlight. Rick’s head was still throbbing a little from the careless blow that had knocked him out, but he couldn’t stay mad as those broad shoulders seemed to sink ever lower the longer he watched.

Daryl was moving about inside. Rick realized he’d left his crossbow, a glint of moonlight revealing the complicated thing propped against the railing. Had Daryl trusted him with his favorite weapon before? Rick supposed he must have, but he couldn’t quite remember. 

A light wind picked up, rustling the treetops, and Rick shivered. He wished he’d grabbed that leather jacket, thinking of its flannel lining, wondering if Daryl would get it for him. The wind was kind of unpleasant, carrying a faint whiff of rot and decay that wrinkled his nose. He wrapped his arms around his middle, bracing himself, and trying to keep himself warm.

There was a sound, then, like a rustle and a crack, and for a moment Rick thought it had come from inside the church. But then it came again, and his head whipped around toward the tree line. There were shapes moving under the trees, where it was dark. He squinted, standing up, a hand going unconsciously to the knife on his belt. 

In the darkness, his eyes could differentiate two figures, then three, then more as the first stumbled out into the moonlight and he saw they were walkers. Seven of them, eight, more coming. Heading straight toward Abraham.

Who wasn’t moving.

Abraham wasn’t moving.

“Abraham,” he hissed, trying to get the man’s attention. Then again, louder, and a walker heard him and moaned, but Abraham didn’t stir. And the walkers were getting closer.

Rick snatched up Daryl’s crossbow, braced it against his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. The bolt flew true, and seemed to sprout in one’s head. It fell. There were three more bolts attached to the stock, and he took one and tried to pull the string back, straining. “Abraham,” he yelled, no point being quiet now, but still the damn man didn’t move, and Rick couldn’t get the crossbow cocked, it just wasn’t happening, and he dropped it, running down the steps.

“Daryl!” he roared, drawing his knife and running to the first walker as it approached Abraham. Its arms were reaching for him, a snarl building in its ruined throat. Abraham knelt there like he was giving penance, like he deserved what was coming, and Rick grabbed the walker by the hair and thrust his knife into its temple.

It dropped, and then dead hands were reaching for him. Rick kicked one in the chest, getting a little space, and Abraham still wasn’t moving and Rick stabbed another in the head, then another, catching one at the throat and trying to push it back but it kept coming, it just kept coming, and he tried to stab it, getting tangled up in its failing arms. 

It pushed him back another step and he turned, shoving it over and getting on top as it fell and stabbing it, a hard thrust beneath its jaws but he was on the ground, too, off balance and he fell over, just getting on his back before another fell on top of him. 

He got his forearm against its neck, just keeping its snapping teeth out of reach, and his knife wasn’t in his hand, he must have dropped it and the walker was pushing against him and he could hear more getting closer and he pushed against it frantically but he was weakening, gasping with the effort. He scrabbled in the dirt for the knife, not feeling it, and the walker was within inches of his face, gnashing at him.

Just then, a crossbow bolt appeared in the top of its head, and it went limp on top of him.

A great wash of relief ran through him, even over the hammering of his heart, and he wriggled out from under the walker to see Daryl and Michonne finishing off the other few walkers, her blade flashing silver in the moonlight, Daryl shooting two more in quick succession and then moving in to stab another.

Rick was still on the ground, chest still heaving. He propped himself up on his elbow, then climbed shakily to his feet. Spotting his knife, he picked it up and wiped it on his jeans. He was just sheathing it as Michonne came back over to him, and Maggie poked her head out of the church. Seeing the mess, she dashed out, and Glenn was right behind her, then Rosita, and Sasha, Bob, Tyreese all fanning out and checking for more threats. 

“You okay?” Michonne asked, grabbing his arm. He nodded, looking to Daryl, who retrieved his last bolt and shook off the gore.

“What the hell, man?” Glenn said, looking at Rick, who was still barefoot, now covered in gore and shaking, and Abraham, who was still kneeling in the center of the massacre.

But he was looking at Rick, now, who was still breathing hard. 

“That was something fucking else,” Abraham said slowly. Then he shook his head, only now moving. “Why would you do that for me?” he asked, his voice full of pain.

Rick, panting, couldn’t think of anything to say, other than, “It’s what we do.”

Michonne, next to him, nodded, and Daryl came over to take Rick’s arm, offering his support with a strong grip as he wavered slightly. The others made signs of agreement, even Rosita going with it in the moment.

And it seemed to settle something for Abraham, and as Rick watched the strange, lonely despair seemed to bleed out of his eyes to be replaced by a form of resolve. The big man nodded, and stood up like he hadn’t been kneeling there for most of a day, broad shoulders squaring.

Rick felt a thrill of danger run through him, but Abraham nodded once, strongly, and said, “It’s what we do.”

It had the air of a bargain struck.

“Can we get back inside, now?” Daryl said, breaking the weirdly solemn mood. “Shit.”

Maggie laughed, and as the mood broke Daryl helped Rick back up the stairs.

“We need to clear the bodies,” Rick said, pausing.

“Abraham’s taking care of it,” Daryl said, and when Rick looked back, he saw that the redhead was dragging a body off beneath the trees. Most of the others were dragging bodies of their own, and Maggie and Sasha were watching their perimeter. Rick knew he could trust them, and so he let Daryl pull him inside, Bob following them with a medical sort of glint in his eye.

“Wanted to talk to you,” Rick murmured, but Daryl just parked him back on his pew, eyes sort of amused again.

“Later,” Daryl promised, wiping roughly at Rick’s face with a dampened cloth. For a moment, Rick was reminded of Shane, wiping his son’s blood from his face. But this time the memory didn’t cause him to flinch. Daryl was a different man, and this was a different time. Rick sat still for it, and let Daryl wrestle the gory shirt off his back and help him into a clean one. 

“Good enough for now,” Daryl said gruffly, and Rick let it sort of wash over him, the tiredness. “But,” Daryl continued, “you still need to eat something.” And he went to get the food he’d dropped at Rick’s yell, and Rick watched him go, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

Bob sat beside him, eyebrows raised about as high as they would go. “How’s the head?”

Rick eyed him warily, wondering where the penlight was. “I think I’m okay.”

“Uh huh,” Bob said, skeptically. “Follow my finger,” he ordered, holding up his index finger and moving it horizontally across Rick’s field of vision.

Rick went with it, forcing a sense of patience he didn’t feel, and Bob ran him through a few more tests before sitting back, satisfied. “I think you got away with it,” Bob said, smiling.

“It wasn’t like, I mean,” Rick fumbled.

Daryl was returning with a plate of food, and he snorted at Rick’s words. “You’d throw yourself into a fight half dead,” he said, as if daring Rick to argue.

Rick shrugged, looking down. Daryl didn’t seem to expect an answer, just handing Rick the plate and sitting on his other side, close enough that he was pressed up against Rick, sort of bracing him upright. 

“Well,” Bob said, “we’ll see if you keep this down, and get some more sleep.”

“I will,” Rick said, trying to be gracious.

“Dad?” a voice said, and he looked over to Carl, who was just sitting up. “What’s going on?”

He and Daryl could only laugh.

Unbelievably, some of the others had slept through the fight, Carl and Beth among them. Beth had been given pain pills, though, for her arm, so she didn’t get much teasing. And everyone was just glad that Judith seemed to have slept through it undisturbed. 

But by now everyone’s sleep had been interrupted, and someone got the fire going again, and as the sun was just coming up Bob got some food going, and the others started coming back in from disposing of the bodies. 

Rick watched them, and ate his food slowly; it was a stew made with some of the canned vegetables and canned chicken, he thought, and he was picking through it. He could feel Daryl’s eyes on him, and as the noise picked up across the church he murmured, “Did you, ah, kiss me? Earlier?”

Even with everything, the question had been at the forefront of his mind.

Daryl was very still for a moment, and where they were still pressed together Rick could feel him stiffen, defensively. “If I did?”

“Well, I mean,” Rick said, flustered. “Why?”

Daryl didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Rick found himself feeling anxious, almost as anxious as when he saw those walkers coming up on Abraham’s still form. He stared down at his plate of stew, running his fork through it more as a form of distraction than anything else. But if nothing else, at least Daryl wasn’t pulling away.

At length, Daryl said quietly, “I was worried.”

“Okay,” Rick said, and it was almost a question. 

Daryl sighed. Started to say something. Stopped. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Rick said quickly. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Lost, mostly. “Are you? I mean, do you, was that…”

Daryl knocked their shoulders together gently, and Rick stumbled to a stop. His face felt a little hot, and with his throbbing head he felt unable to puzzle out Daryl’s silences.

Carl approached them then, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Did you really kill ten walkers barefooted?” he asked, yawning but sounding excited.

Rick’s blush only deepened. “It wasn’t ten,” he said, wiggling his toes, which were getting rather cold now that he was thinking about them.

“Well, how many?” Carl pressed, and Daryl was laughing at him, Rick realized, but he didn’t mind too much since Daryl wasn’t stiff anymore.

“Go on, kid,” Daryl said. “Get something to eat, bug your dad later.”

Carl shrugged. “At least Abraham can’t call you weak now,” he said as he turned to leave.

Rick grimaced. Once Carl was out of earshot, he muttered to Daryl, “Abraham was saying that?”

Daryl shrugged. “He was saying all kinds of shit. Wanted to get to DC.”

“Guess that’s off the table, now,” Rick said, sighing. “I kind of liked the idea of having a plan.”

Daryl leaned against him a little harder, offering support. “We could still go north. Noah’s family lives up that way.”

Rick blinked. “Right, Noah. He wanted to go home.”

The hospital felt like a million years ago, instead of yesterday. Or the day before. Whenever it had been.

“It’s something, anyway,” Daryl said gruffly.

Rick bit his lip, still looking down. “Guess I have been kind of weak, lately.”

Daryl nudged him again, harder. “Stop that shit,” he growled. “You ain’t weak. Best man I ever knew.”

Rick tried to smile at that, but it was more of a grimace. “I’ve been slowing us down.” He said it like a confession, finally giving voice to some of the things he’d been thinking since Terminus.

“Hey,” Daryl said, keeping his voice low. “That don’t matter. We ain’t nothing without you. If you stay, we stay. All there is to it.”

Rick gulped. “I’m not worth that,” he whispered. “The shit I did …”

But he couldn’t continue, because then Daryl took his face in both hands and pulled him into a kiss. 

Daryl’s lips moved against his, and Rick gasped, opening his mouth and tilting his head a little. His plate clattered to the floor as he grabbed at Daryl’s shoulder, feeling the other man move against him. Daryl’s arms moved down, encircling his back, and Rick moaned. 

Then Daryl pulled back, and Rick stared at him, still gasping for air.

“This okay?” he asked, hesitantly. 

Rick blinked, licked his lips nervously. He was still holding onto Daryl’s shoulders, and he tightened his grip. “What is this, exactly.”

Daryl grimaced. “We gotta talk about it?”

“I, um.” Rick pulled back a little. “I guess not.”

“Good,” Daryl said, and kissed him again.

Rick’s eyes fell closed, and he leaned into Daryl, letting the other man guide the pace. His heart was thumping beneath his ribs. Daryl pulled him closer, moving him bodily across the bench, and Rick felt a pull in his ribs, winced. Daryl pulled back, suddenly, and Rick looked at him, feeling dazed.

“You need to be sleeping,” Daryl said, reluctance written in every line of his features.

Rick frowned. “I feel okay.” 

“Your eyes are crossing, man,” Daryl said, touching his face just beneath the bandage at his temple. “Sleep.”

“You gonna avoid me again, if I do?” Rick challenged.

“Wasn’t avoiding you,” Daryl muttered.

“Felt like you were,” Rick said, ducking his head.

“Well, I won’t do it again,” Daryl promised.

Rick was able to accept that, and Daryl nudged him until he stretched out again, and stayed next to him as he faded back into a restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am being terrible about answering your beautiful comments, I'm sorry, I've been traveling and trying to get the next chapter done so it wouldn't be an awful wait. I love you all for sticking with me!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, healing happens, and a familiar face shows up.

True to his word, Daryl was still next to him when he woke up.

Rick’s head was full of a weird, ballooning pain, and he squinted up at Daryl and smiled. “Hey,” he said roughly.

Daryl looked down at him, and his expression was stern but his eyes were soft. “Hey yourself,” he said. “Feel up to eating?”

“Maybe,” Rick said, taking stock of himself. There were signs the other man had left and come back – he was wearing a clean shirt, and he had a plate of food ready for Rick to eat as soon as he was conscious – but for Rick it counted. It more than counted. Opening his eyes to see Daryl still sitting next to him was reassuring, something he felt like he needed.

“Let’s get you up, then,” Daryl said, mostly as a warning, taking Rick’s arm and pulling him upright. Rick clung to Daryl’s shoulder until the church stopped spinning around him. Daryl tried to catch his eyes, and he looked concerned. “You okay?”

“Think so,” Rick panted, and after a moment he was able to loosen his grip, and then let go. He swayed, and Daryl shoved his shoulder against Rick’s side, propping him up.

“Here, get this in you,” Daryl said gruffly, and passed Rick a plate of stew, this one full of vegetables and little white shapes he didn’t recognize.

“What’s this?” Rick asked slowly, poking at the thing. It was a little hard to speak through the pain in his head, and he wasn’t sure Daryl heard him.

Daryl glanced at him, raising both eyebrows. “It’s hominy,” he said, like that should be obvious. When that didn’t clear anything up, he continued, “It’s corn, they do something to it and it gets like that.” He nudged Rick with his shoulder. “It’s just to fill you up, sticks to the ribs.”

Rick tried a bite, and the hominy didn’t taste of anything in particular. He shrugged, and dug into the stew. They would probably be eating a lot of stew for a while, he thought. Best way to stretch out the canned food while they had a stable base and could actually cook. 

It had been those among them who’d been poorest before the world ended who knew the best ways to feed more people with less food, and Rick reckoned that made sense. With enough water, herbs and cooking, three cans could feed all of them for one meal, at least. 

A little meat could make it stretch even further, he knew, and looked down at his stew guiltily.

“What’re you thinking?” Daryl asked as Rick stilled.

Rick was still looking at the stew, rather than at Daryl. “It, um. You leave meat out of this for me?”

They hadn’t put words to it before, Rick’s aversion to meat since Terminus. He’d been trying to hide the sick feeling that would roil through him every time he smelled flesh cooking. But Daryl must have noticed. Hell, they’d probably all noticed by now.

Daryl just nudged him again. “Eat your food. I’ll go out hunting later,” he said, sidestepping the question neatly.

Rick grimaced, but did as he was told. It had not escaped his notice that they were alone in the church, aside from Eugene’s still body, and that fact felt significant as he finished eating.

“Are we gonna talk now?” Rick asked, setting down the plate and turning to face Daryl. His words were still low, too small in his throat. He couldn’t seem to put any more force behind them.

Daryl frowned, a little, and reached out to run his fingers over the side of Rick’s face, moving gently over Rick’s lengthening stubble and the bruise under his eye. Rick closed his eyes at the touch, and stayed very still, letting it happen. He thought Daryl might kiss him again, and it was a good thought.

But Daryl pulled back. “Not till you’re better,” he said, meeting Rick’s distressed gaze clearly and openly. Rick wanted to object, but something in him felt shaken loose, weirdly hollow, and it was difficult to even think through it.

And beyond that, something told him to let Daryl set his own pace. 

Rick had noticed the lengths Daryl would go to if he didn’t want to be touched, and he’d tried to respect that, tried to let Daryl initiate any contact between them, not moving when Daryl patted his shoulder or stomach, just letting it happen so Daryl would be comfortable around him. Only taking his hand, or clapping him on the back, if Daryl had invited it.

So if Daryl wasn’t ready for this, whatever this was, then Rick would have to honor that.

“What’s everyone doing outside, anyway?” Rick asked, changing the subject.

Daryl hadn’t seemed tense before, but he visibly relaxed, and Rick knew he’d made the right choice.

“A few of ‘em are still working on the bus,” Daryl started.

“I thought it was fixed,” Rick said, bewildered. Was he forgetting things? “Wasn’t that what last night was all about?”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Abraham was callin’ it fixed, but Glenn said it wouldn’t get twenty miles without blowing a hose. Said a lot of the rubber parts had rotted out.”

“Makes sense,” Rick said, “if it’s just been sitting out there for two years or more.” He was even relieved that the fault was with the bus, and not his rattled brain. 

Daryl nodded. “So they’re working on that, and Glenn’s trying to teach Abraham some of the stuff Dale taught him.”

“How’s that going?” Rick asked apprehensively. He’d seemed to come to some sort of agreement with the big redhead last night, but he still couldn’t imagine Abraham taking instruction well.

“It’s been fine so far,” Daryl shrugged. “And the others are mostly just enjoying the day.”

It was sunny and pleasantly warm for October, and Rick nodded. “That’s good.” He looked down, thinking for a minute. “What’s everybody saying about what happened?”

Daryl huffed out a laugh that wasn’t all that amused. “Sasha’s saying Eugene got what he deserved. Think Tara’s feeling sorry for him.”

“Glenn?”

Daryl shook his head. “Hasn’t said much about it.”

“We thinking about moving on?” Rick’s voice had only gotten smaller, and Daryl was leaning in to hear him. 

“Nah,” Daryl said easily. “We ain’t got a plan, so we’s thinking about just staying here for a bit like we talked about, letting Carol and you, and Eugene now, heal up.” He paused for a moment. “Talked to the others about our plan. Heading north, getting Noah home. They liked the idea.”

Rick nodded. “Good,” he said. “Kid was a lot of help in Atlanta. Least we could do in return.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Good a plan as any, for now.”

“So that’s what we’ll do,” Rick said, relaxing a little. He was starting to fade out again, the strange, hollow feeling in his chest growing, reaching up his throat to his aching head. He hated that this was what his life had been reduced to, brief moments of lucidity and the long stretches of dark.

But Daryl said, “Go on, get some rest.”

And Rick stretched back out on the pew. Daryl shifted, patted his leg once. Rick glanced up at him, but Daryl was pointedly looking out at the rest of the empty church. 

Taking a chance, Rick scooted closer and put his head on Daryl’s thigh, and fell asleep with Daryl’s fingers in his hair.

* * *

Rick woke again sometime later, and most of the group had come back inside. The church was bright with candlelight, and filled with easy chatter. Rick pulled himself up, realizing he’d lost almost another full day. His head still felt heavy on his neck, and he propped himself up with his elbows on his knees, letting his head hang down between his shoulders.

Michonne saw his movement, and came over with a plate of rice. “Think you could eat?” she asked him.

“Feels like all I been doing lately,” Rick said, his voice a dry rasp. “Sleeping and eating.”

“Well, you need it,” Michonne said, that practical streak in her shoving aside his concerns. 

“How’s Carol?” Rick asked, taking the plate from her. It was rice and vegetables, and he thought it looked familiar from a meal kit Lori used to buy. The thought sent a pang of longing through his chest. 

“She’s healing,” Michonne said. “She’s been more alert than you, today.”

Rick shrugged, taking a bite. The flavors exploded across his tongue, and his stomach roared to life, demanding more. He shoveled in a few more bites hastily, and Michonne watched him with a pleased look on her face.

“What?” he asked her after a moment.

She shook her head. “Good to see you with an appetite, is all.”

He shoveled in another bite, so he wouldn’t have to answer.

Once he’d finished eating, he actually felt a little steadier, like the weight in his stomach had anchored the rest of him somehow. He managed to stand on his own, and while Michonne looked cautious, she didn’t voice any objections as he wandered over to sit next to Carl and Judith.

“How’re you feeling?” Carl asked. He was holding Judith in his lap, and he passed her over to Rick as he got settled.

“Better,” he said, pausing for a moment to enjoy the feel of his daughter, safe and whole and happy. “A lot better.” They were quiet for a moment, an easy quiet, and then Rick said, “So where’s Daryl?”

He thought he said it casually, but perhaps not.

“He went hunting,” Carl said, a smile tilting his mouth. “Said he had a better chance of getting a deer if he set up before dawn.”

Rick nodded. “Good, good.”

“You worried about him?” Carl asked.

“No,” Rick said. “Not worried. Just, wondering.” Judith squirmed in his arms, and he shifted her. “What’s going on with everyone else?” 

“It’s okay, dad,” Carl said, “about you and Daryl.”

Rick thought about that for a moment. “I’m not sure there is a me and Daryl.”

Carl snorted then. “Of course there is.”

“And you’re fine with that?” Rick had never discussed his sexual orientation with his son – Lori had been … uneasy with his bisexuality, and he’d loved her, so he’d spent a lot of time pretending it wasn’t even a thing. There had been a time in his life when he’d never thought he’d be in another relationship, after her. So in a way it hadn’t mattered, but Carl would have a right to be upset.

But Carl just looked at him with eyes that seemed wise beyond his years. “Totally fine.” He paused, and tilted his head. “He’s good for you.”

Rick had to nod. “He has been that.” He sighed. “But we haven’t talked about anything yet.”

Carl shrugged, as if talking were inconsequential. “You will.”

“But really, I do want to know what else is going on,” Rick said. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Well, Eugene’s still unconscious.” 

Rick hadn’t noticed his body, and he looked around for it.

“They got him moved over against a wall,” Carl explained, “and Tara’s been taking care of him, getting water in him and stuff.”

“And Abraham? Rosita?”

“They’re on watch,” Carl said. “They don’t seem to want to be inside much.”

That made sense, Rick supposed. Having to share space with a man who’d lied to them, and betrayed them, would be hard. 

A wave of tiredness swept over Rick then, and while he wanted to check on the others, go around and talk to them, it was all he could do, suddenly, to stay upright.

“Woah, dad,” Carl said, pulling Judith from his arms. “You okay?”

“Think I need to lay down,” Rick mumbled.

Bob must have been watching them, because he jumped up from where he’d been cuddling with Sasha and caught Rick’s arm. “I gotcha. Come on,” he said, and helped Rick up. “How’re you feeling? Nauseous?”

“No,” Rick murmured. “Just tired.”

And Bob might have said something else then, but Rick couldn’t remember, could barely remember getting back to what he was thinking of as ‘his’ pew and laying down and falling into sleep as if down a deep well.

* * *

The next time he woke, it was a few hours after dawn. He’d lost another half day, at least. Less time than before, but still, frustration bubbled up in his chest. The light in the church was bright, streaming in through the propped open doors. Daryl was sitting next to him, and he could smell meat cooking in the distance. 

The smell turned his stomach.

“Hey,” he said, watching Daryl’s face.

Daryl turned to look at him, and he didn’t smile but something about him looked happier. “Hey yourself.”

“Guess you got your deer?” 

Daryl shrugged. “Couple of grouse.”

“Oh,” Rick said, not sure what those were. “Good.”

Daryl was laughing at him with his eyes as he helped him sit up. “It’s a bird,” he said, still holding Rick’s arm. “Good eating.”

Rick let himself lean into Daryl, appreciating his warmth. He felt strangely chilled, much of the time, and Daryl put off so much heat that Rick turned to him, like a plant to the sun. 

Daryl helped steady him as he stood up. He wasn’t dizzy, now, so much as stiff, and he joined the others for grouse stew. Daryl fixed him a bowl with just a few shreds of meat, and watched as he ate it with only a little hesitation. Somehow knowing that Daryl knew, and was looking out for him, made eating meat less daunting than it had been.

They talked with the others for a bit, not about anything in particular. He found out how Eugene was doing (still unconscious) how the others felt about that (pleased to indifferent to worried) and what progress had been made on the bus – quite a lot, but Glenn was still working on it.

There wasn’t a moment to talk to Daryl about anything more personal. It should have been frustrating, but it was nice just spending time with him.

After a while, Rick excused himself, and went to check on Carol.

It had been a couple of days, he thought, since he’d seen her. She was awake, lying on the couch in the rectory when he came through its door. 

“Come to visit the sick?” she said archly, and he moved slowly to the chair against the wall, and scooted it out so he could sit in it and still see Carol’s face.

“How are you feeling?” 

She shrugged. “Not bad, considering.” She stretched one leg cautiously, and said, “I don’t think it’s broken, or it was just a hairline fracture.”

He shivered, remembering the girl with the mangled ankle. Her limp, and her dependence on her milquetoast boyfriend. He’d given her boyfriend his watch, and he and Carol had discovered her body together, just before he’d exiled her from the prison.

A broken leg could be such a disadvantage in this world. If it didn’t heal right …

She seemed to sense his lowered mood, sitting up a little and saying, “Guess you and Daryl had that talk?” 

He looked at her, frowning a little. “What talk?” He paused. “Hang on, how long have you known about this?”

“Since he came back to the prison,” she said, raising one brow in challenge.

Rick was slightly stunned. “All this time? Wait, what are we talking about exactly?”

“Your relationship with Daryl,” she said, as if that were obvious.

“We aren’t in a relationship,” he said hesitantly, “I don’t think. Or, he hasn’t said, anyway.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been dating for almost a year.”

“No we haven’t,” Rick said automatically.

“Ever since you gave up leadership, and formed the council,” she explained slowly. “And he brought you extra food, and checked on you before and after every run, and made sure you could keep farming while he took care of the rest of us?”

Rick blinked. Thinking back, that _was_ when the touching had intensified. “Well, shit. Seriously?”

She patted his hand. “It’s okay. You caught on eventually.”

“But he never said anything.”

She sighed, a little impatiently. “I know. I’ve been trying to get him to just talk to you.” She paused then. “He was starting to get worried, when you didn’t, well, respond.”

Rick put his face in his hands. “He never said anything,” he repeated helplessly.

Just then Beth poked her head in the door, interrupting anything Carol might have said in return.

“That Eugene fellow’s awake,” she said brightly, and Rick had to follow her out to check on him.

Eugene’s eyes were full of broken blood vessels, and his speech was slurred. Bob could only say that the fact he’d woken up was promising, but he didn’t know enough about brain damage to say more than that. 

Eugene was moved to a corner away from Abraham, who made him flinch whenever he came near, and was left to heal further if he could. 

Tara took to bringing him food, sitting with him. She felt oddly sorry for him, Rick thought, or they had bonded a bit on the road while searching for Maggie.

Abraham wasn’t around much that day. Every time Rick saw him he was busy, with one project or another.

“Making real progress on that bitch of an engine,” Abraham said in passing, or “Thinking of doing a little fishing in that stream,” with a look for Rick’s approval. And every time, Abraham gave him a very serious, respectful look that made Rick feel weirdly ashamed.

A feeling he carefully tamped down. However he felt about it, getting Abraham’s respect was better for the group, and he needed to be thinking about the group.

Daryl didn’t avoid him, but they didn’t kiss again. If anyone had noticed them kissing before, they hadn’t said, and Daryl seemed reluctant to even talk about it in the crowded space of the church. He was still talking to Rick, of course. About the bus, or their food situation, or the number of walkers in the surrounding woods. Nothing they couldn’t discuss in front of the others.

Rick wasn’t sure why they couldn’t talk about it in front of the others. He wasn’t upset that Daryl had kissed him, or ashamed. But something told him Daryl didn’t want it spoken of, and he couldn’t go against Daryl’s wishes like that.

And still, there was no way to get a moment on their own, and Rick’s eyes followed Daryl about the space, feeling a strange, frustrated sort of bewilderment at Daryl’s continued silence. He’d felt okay with waiting, but he hadn’t realized how long a wait it would be. What had that kiss meant? Were they in a relationship now? It was mostly that he couldn’t be sure that was so frustrating to him.

But at the same time, he was also so damn tired all the time that he couldn’t keep worrying about it for long.

* * *

The next day Rick thought he might be well again. He woke at a reasonable hour, after a full night’s sleep, and the sun was bright but not so bright it hurt his eyes, and he was hungry and ate well. Daryl seemed pleased, and Rick stayed up talking for a few hours without getting tired.

But in the afternoon he faded again, and lost a few hours before dinner, waking up long enough to eat with the others, then passing out for the night.

It was the next day, the fifth day after Eugene had confessed, and Abraham had passed out concussions like part favors, that Rick really, truly, finally felt like himself. 

After breakfast, he was informed that Abraham had fixed the bus, for real this time, with Glenn’s approval, and was thinking about rolling out. Noah was eager to leave, worried about his family and wanting to know what had happened to them, and it seemed reasonable enough to Rick.

“I think I’m okay to travel,” he said, and Noah smiled gratefully. “What about Carol?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, and he turned to see her limping over with Bob’s help. 

“Bob?” he asked.

Bob nodded. “I think she’ll be fine on the bus. She should keep this leg straight, though.”

“We can arrange that,” Abraham said, and he was less gung ho than he’d been, in a good way, calmer and more willing to compromise.

“We have been in this church a while,” Rick conceded.

Daryl sat next to him, and asked quietly, “You sure about this? Could put it off for a day or two.”

Before Rick could answer, Tara, twisting her hands nervously in front of her, said, “Eugene told me he sabotaged the bus.”

Questions were shouted, and she cringed a bit. “He told me this morning.” She looked around at them, her eyes painfully sincere. “He feels really bad about it, and he did tell us before we got on the road.” She paused. “He’s trying.”

Abraham reddened impressively, and Rick had a moment of terror that the earlier disaster would see a repeat. But Abraham closed his eyes, and breathed heavily for a moment, and then stalked outside to fix the bus again.

Rick watched him go, breathing out.

“He’s something else,” Michonne said, and Rick had to agree.

“Eugene is seeming like a liability, though,” Rick murmured.

“People can be, sometimes,” Michonne said peacefully. “But we still give them a chance.”

Rick sighed. “We do at that.”

Next to him, Daryl nodded supportively.

Glenn stood reluctantly. “Guess I’ll go check on the engine,” he said bitterly. “Again.” 

Rick was emphatically not allowed to help, and while he was getting tired of being coddled by everyone he knew in the world, he was starting to heal and feel steady as time passed and had to admit that he’d needed the week of rest. 

Eugene had put glass in the fuel line, and Glenn argued it was safer to scavenge a new fuel line than risk running the engine with this one in, even if cleaned out. Daryl backed him up, and led another trip into the nearby town. 

Rick didn’t even try to go, this time. He wasn’t giving up. But when Daryl looked at him as he started to speak, all of the expected objections flooded Rick’s mind, and he conceded defeat before the argument could begin again. 

He spent the time they were gone suppressing his anxiety by spending a little time with Judith and Tyreese, who was talking with Noah about his family. The boy was blossoming with time and positive attention; it seemed like the further they were from the hospital, in terms of time passing anyway, the more confident Noah became. And as he was telling Tyreese and Rick about his family, and their community, a neighborhood of other families behind a strong brick wall, Rick realized the boy must have come to trust them.

Beth joined them after a while, and then Carl came in to sit with them. It ended up being a nice day. A light drizzle started in the afternoon, and Michonne came in to keep watch from inside the door. Carol went back to the rectory for a nap. Sasha got the fire going, and Eugene eventually crept over, sitting at the edge of the group and taking in the conversation and the atmosphere more than anything.

Spending time with his family was more healing than anything, Rick thought, and he was able to push his worry for the others to the back of his mind.

So it came as quite a shock when, partly through the afternoon and hours before they expected the others to return, a figure all in black knocked on the church door and stepped in out of the rain with both hands up.

Rick jumped to his feet, hand going to his gun and he turned his body so that the bulk of it was between this stranger and Judith. The others were scrambling up, even Beth pulling a knife, and Michonne, who’d been on watch and whose chagrin was clear, held her katana on the man as he slowly pulled down his hood and raised his goggles, revealing dark black skin.

Rick blinked.

“Morgan?” he asked blankly.

And Morgan smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeee, Morgan! Yes, because they were at the church so much longer, I decided he would have time to catch up with them. :)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the comments, they give me life!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Morgan get a chance to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School was kicking my butt, sorry guys. But we're done now, yay! And I can get back on track. :)

For a moment Rick thought he might be hallucinating. But Michonne stepped back, lowering her sword a bit, and Carl said, “Oh my god,” and Rick let his gun fall to his side.

“Morgan,” he said again, his tone wondering, and Tyreese took Judith from his arms with a reassuring nod, letting Rick stride forward as Morgan lowered his hands.

The last time he’d seen this man, he’d been mad, and the madness had been as clear on his face as his returned sanity was now. His eyes were clear and his smile was calm, and Rick holstered his gun and Morgan’s smile widened and they fell into each other’s arms, Morgan clapping both hands on Rick’s back, Rick squeezing Morgan as if he could confirm the man was real.

Rick pulled back after a moment, feeling the dampness from Morgan’s wet clothes seeping through his shirt. “You’re here,” he said, in that same, wondering tone. “How?”

“I tracked you from the prison,” Morgan said, and there was something new to his voice that Rick didn’t recognize, a sort of serenity, a sense of peace that contrasted so sharply with the broken man he’d seen half a year ago that this new Morgan was barely recognizable.

“Must have been hard,” Michonne said, and she still looked wary.

“Who is that?” Rick heard Beth asking Carl, and Rick turned around, smiling.

“Everyone, this is Morgan. He saved me, back at the beginning, when all this started.”

Morgan ducked his head. “As much as you saved me.”

“And you’re better now?” Carl said hesitantly, stepping forward.

Morgan sobered, and meeting Carl’s gaze steadily he nodded. “A man found me, and helped me, and taught me to live in this world.” He looked at Rick then. “Taught me all life is precious.”

Rick blinked. Then it hit him.

If Morgan had followed them from the prison, he must have been through Terminus. 

He must have seen.

Rick’s smile faltered, but he tried to hide his reaction. “So what, uh, what are you doing here?”

“Just what I said,” Morgan said with a gentle smile. “Looking for you, and your family.” He paused for a moment, and looked down. “I remembered you talked about a prison, but by the time I found it …”

Rick had to look down, too.

“We lost a lot of good people,” Michonne said, sheathing her katana.

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“But my daughter,” Rick said. “Judith. You haven’t met her.”

“She made it?” Morgan asked, his voice almost painful with sudden hope. “She’s alive? I saw a child’s car seat, covered in blood, and I thought the worst.”

“You went in there?” Tyreese asked. “Wasn’t it overrun?”

Rick knew why he asked. If they could go back, maybe it could be made a safe place again. Something in him flinched at the thought. It had been so good there, only to cause them to lose so much.

“I couldn’t tell what had happened,” Morgan was saying, “from outside, and I got as far as the courtyard behind the third fence.”

Tyreese nodded. “Yeah, that’s about where we had to drop the car seat.” He thought for a moment. “How did it look, in there?”

Morgan’s face was very solemn. “It was overrun. I killed at least a dozen walkers, just getting in and out, but that didn’t make a dent.”

“The fences were down,” Rick remembered, thinking about the internal warrens and cells, and how so overrun with walkers they would become deadly traps.

“And some of the walls,” Morgan confirmed. “One of the towers.” He shook his head. “It’s a wonder any of you made it out.”

“Judith,” Rick said then. “Do you want to meet her?” And Morgan nodded.

Tyreese stepped forward, clearly wary of this strange man, but willing to trust Rick.

Morgan reached out, and, looking to Rick for permission, gathered Judith up into his arms. “Oh, she’s beautiful.”

“Yeah she is,” Carl said, somewhat defensively.

“It’s alright, Carl,” Rick said, shushing him. “He’s not like he was when you met him.”

“Are you sure?” Carl asked flatly.

Rick didn’t know how to answer that, and Morgan said, “It’s alright, Rick. Perfectly understandable.” Judith squirmed uncertainly in his arms, and Morgan bounced her a little, winning a smile from the toddler. He turned back to Carl then. “It took a lot of time, and hard work, to come back from that.”

“But you did?” Carl asked, interrogating him. Beth looked as intently interested, and Tyreese stopped behind Rick’s shoulder, listening.

“I did,” Morgan said serenely. 

“That’s enough,” Rick said gently. “No need to interrogate the man.”

“Just being safe, dad,” Carl said with no regret in his voice.

“But when I followed y’all from the prison,” Morgan started, “I lost track of most everyone until I found that sign for Terminus. But when I got there, it had been burned down.”

Rick’s stomach twisted. 

“It was a lie,” Carl said. “The promise of refuge.”

“They were cannibals,” Michonne said flatly, sitting down next to Beth, who shivered. They hadn’t quite gotten around to telling her about what the rest of the group had been through.

“Cannibals?” Morgan asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah,” Rick confirmed. “They, uh, would lure people in, offer ‘em a plate of food.”

“Only the food was people,” Carl broke in.

“And they’d offer you a choice,” Sasha said, coming a little closer. Her eyes were still haunted by the memories of that place. “Join them, or feed them.”

“That sounds …” Morgan shook his head, holding Judith a little closer. “Did they …”

“No,” Tyreese said, catching his meaning. “She was with me.”

“And I’m forever grateful,” Rick said, touching his shoulder. Tyreese smiled, and ducked his head in a sheepish sort of gesture.

“That’s a blessing,” Morgan said. “How on earth did you get out of there?”

“Carol,” Rick said, looking toward the rectory door. “She got us out. You should meet her, she’s resting right now but …”

“She sounds like a special lady,” Morgan said, smiling. “So she set the place on fire?” he pressed.

Rick couldn’t answer that. “I want to hear what happened to you, after we left. How’d you get like this?”

Morgan hesitated, looking at Rick thoughtfully.

“We can talk about that later,” Beth suggested. “Maybe he’d like something to eat.”

“Yeah,” Rick said quickly. “You need anything? We got food, water, some medical supplies.”

“I’m alright,” Morgan said, passing Judith over to Beth. “Wouldn’t mind something to drink.”

Noah limped over with a bottle of water, and nodded to Morgan shyly as he handed it over. Morgan thanked him, and took a sip, but he was still watching Rick.

“Did the town get overrun?” Rick asked, still trying to redirect the conversation. “Why’d you leave in the first place?”

Morgan nodded slowly, but then shook his head. “I … lost track of things for a time,” he admitted, his smile turning rueful. “I know I was in the woods, but I don’t remember why. That’s when he found me.”

“Another survivor?” Michonne asked.

“Yes, but more than that,” Morgan said sadly, and Rick could guess how things had turned out. “A friend.”

“The one who taught you all life is precious,” Carl said, and he said it skeptically, and Rick remembered Hershel’s words after the Governor’s first assault on the prison. His worry about what Carl could become. Rick frowned. Hershel had been worrying about the wrong Grimes, he thought.

Morgan just got that serene look on his face again. 

“We should get some food going,” Rick said quickly, before Morgan could go into more detail. “For when the others get back.”

“There are others?” Morgan asked, amazed.

“Yeah, a bunch of ‘em,” Carl said defensively, like he wanted to make sure Morgan knew they would be avenged if he tried anything.

“We lost so many, it’s hard sometimes to remember what we were able to keep,” Rick admitted. “We have seven more people on a run.”

“Seven,” Morgan repeated. 

“I’m new,” Noah volunteered. “They just picked me up in Atlanta.”

Morgan smiled at him. “That was a true stroke of fortune, then.”

“I am a new addition as well,” Eugene said softly, and he’d been so quiet for so long, speaking only to Tara when he did speak, that it was almost startling to hear his voice again. “I and two compatriots.”

“So you’re still rescuing people,” Morgan said to Rick, his eyes kind.

Rick coughed. Shrugged.

“Yeah,” Carl said firmly, “we are.”

“They just rescued me,” Beth offered, resting her chin on Judith’s head. “And Carol, from some people in Atlanta.”

“It’s amazing,” Morgan said, looking around at them. “Truly amazing. You keep losing each other, but you always find each other again.”

“We try,” Tyreese said, smiling. “It’s what we do.”

Rick still couldn’t say anything. It felt like anything he said would be some variety of lie. The things his people believed about him didn’t fit with what all he’d done, and the difference felt like it was killing him sometimes. “We could make another stew,” he managed.

Morgan frowned at him, slightly, and said, “Could we talk for a minute?” He gestured toward the door. “There’s some things I want to run by you.”

“Um, sure,” Rick nodded, looking at Michonne. She seemed to catch his meaning, and she nodded back.

Morgan left without another word, and Rick followed him out, feeling apprehension roiling in his gut. Wondering what the other man wanted.

But Morgan just led him a few yards into the trees, just far enough that the leaves cut the drizzle and left them almost dry, and he leaned against a trunk and smiled at Rick. Rick tried to smile back, but had to drop it almost instantly. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Mostly I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Morgan began, talking slowly. “Are you okay? You seemed … I don’t know, tense, in there.”

Rick shrugged. “I’m fine, really.”

Morgan sighed. “I said a fellow found me, taught me some things.”

“Yeah,” Rick prompted.

Morgan grimaced. “He, uh, he died, a couple months back. Saving me.”

Rick nodded. He’d guessed as much. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and it wasn’t just rote, he could see the pain in Morgan’s eyes and could only remember how broken his friend had been.

But Morgan smiled again, even if it was pained. “It was the kind of person he was. And it made me realize, the kind of person you are.”

“What?” Rick asked, stunned.

“You said in there that I saved you,” Morgan said. “But really it was you that saved me. When you came back, you and Carl and the woman.”

“Michonne,” Rick corrected.

“Yes, Michonne.” Morgan paused for a moment. “When I stabbed you, and you refused to kill me.”

Rick looked down, a hand going to the back of his neck.

“It changed things for me, Rick.” Morgan stepped a bit closer, looking very sincere and certain. “It wasn’t enough, then, at the time. And things got worse for a while, I’m not gonna lie about that. But you telling me I was good … even in all that madness, it meant a lot. And when I met Eastman…” Morgan shook his head. “He was a good man, like you. And when I got him killed ….”

“From how you talk about him,” Rick said. “He probably wouldn’t think of it that way. If he was saving you.”

Morgan smiled sadly. “And when I got him killed,” he repeated firmly, “I knew the only way to make his sacrifice worth it was to track down the other man who had saved me, and help him in any way I could.”

“Morgan,” Rick started, faltered. “That’s …” He had to shake his head. “I mean,” and he sucked in a breath. “I’m not a good man.”

Morgan tilted his head in question, and Rick felt his gorge rising. He looked away, out at the trees and the rain misting down through them, and fixed his eyes on a spot in the distance. “Didn’t you go through Terminus?”

“I did,” Morgan said simply.

Rick couldn’t look at him, his anxiety spiking. “How can you still think I’m a good man?”

“Rick,” Morgan said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t understand. They said Carol set the fire.”

“She did, but I…” Rick found he couldn’t go on. He was shaking.

“But you did the killing?” Morgan asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Rick could only nod. There was a pain in his stomach, like something trying to claw its way out.

And Rick thought Morgan would condemn him then, but Morgan just said, “Why?”

And Rick broke.

Rick fell to his knees, and Morgan followed him down, crouching by him as he started to cry. Not sobbing, or trying to hide anything. Just letting the tears course down his face. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly dry. “They … I thought they’d killed Carl,” he began, and Morgan stayed with him, and listened, as for the first time he told another human being the whole story.

It took a while. Morgan didn’t say anything as Rick, haltingly, worked his way through the gory tale, only asking for clarification a couple of times, releasing a hurt little noise when Rick described his first sight of their killing room, of the bare torsos hung from the ceiling like slabs of beef, touching the bandage on Rick’s brow when he revealed how close he’d come to having his head blown off. 

When it was done, Rick felt … lighter. Emptied out. He’d stopped crying at some point, and his cheeks felt stiff. And he just knelt there, waiting for judgment.

Morgan didn’t say anything for what seemed like a long time. His hand had moved to Rick’s back, and he rubbed Rick’s shoulders a bit, comfortingly. His voice was low when he confessed, “I probably would have done the same thing. If it had been Duane.”

And part of Rick had known that. Morgan had vanished down a rabbit hole of insanity after he’d lost his boy, and part of Rick had known that no one else could understand so well, so perfectly, what that kind of loss could do.

“How did you learn to change?” Rick whispered, talked out. “What did that Eastman guy teach you?”

“He taught me how to live again,” Morgan said, meeting his eyes with a sad, kind smile. “How to stop killing. I can teach you, if you want.”

Rick flinched from that. Then he laughed, a little. “I told you I wasn’t a good man,” he said, shaking his head. “’Cause I don’t think I want to learn that lesson. I can’t, uh.” He shook his head again. “Can’t stop killing, in this world.”

Morgan looked incredibly sad, then. “You can,” he said, squeezing Rick’s shoulder. “We all can.”

Part of Rick couldn’t take it in. “There are bad people out there,” he insisted.

“And you can stop them,” Morgan said, “without killing them.”

“Not always,” Rick said, and his voice was distant. 

A voice interrupted them. “Rick!” Daryl called, and then Rick heard the rapid footsteps approaching. 

Rick sniffed, tried to rub the evidence of tears from his cheeks, stood up as quickly as he could to see Daryl holding his bow on Morgan.

“Who the hell are you?!” Daryl growled, and Abraham was coming up behind him, and Sasha, and Rick realized he had something of a crisis on his hands. Glenn and Maggie weren’t far behind, and Bob was coming up behind them, following the commotion. Stepping between Morgan and Daryl, Rick held out both hands.

“Daryl, hang on, this is Morgan, he’s a friend,” Rick said, and his voice was rough, and he sounded like he’d been crying. 

Daryl didn’t look all that convinced. He sneered, tilting the bow. Morgan stood more slowly, face serene, hands spread open before him as Glenn joined the semi-circle of threat around him, only Rick keeping the others from filling him full of holes. 

Michonne ran out of the church then, and Rick tried to explain, “I met him before, when I first woke up, he saved me, Daryl, he saved my life.”

“So what’s he want now?” Daryl asked, as suspicious as he’d ever been at the beginning.

“He, uh,” Rick paused. He turned to Morgan, and Morgan put on that serene smile.

“I merely wish to be reunited with my friend,” Morgan said, gesturing carefully to Rick, “and help him in any way that he needs.”

“He’s got plenty of help, pal,” Daryl growled, and he wasn’t lowering that crossbow.

“Maybe we should move this back inside,” Rick suggested, feeling mostly overwhelming tiredness, sort of hollowed out.

“What were you two doing out here?” Abraham demanded, and Rick felt a moment of dislocation, unaccustomed to the big redhead defending him.

“Nothing,” Rick said uneasily. “Talking.”

Morgan added, “Rick was just telling me a few things that happened on the road.”

Rick nodded,” Yeah, just catching him up.”

“Guys, it’s cool,” Carl said, and Rick looked at the growing crowd around them with a distinct sense of panic. “I know this guy, he and dad go way back.”

Rick shot him a glance of thanks, knowing Carl was having to suppress his own suspicions to be supportive.

Daryl lowered his crossbow, and stepped in closer to Rick. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’m sure,” Rick said, just as quietly. “Trust me.”

Daryl swallowed, then nodded his acceptance. “Alright, then.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finally gets on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one. I'm having trouble with the pacing in the next couple of chapters, so I've been trying to fix it, but I might as well give you another finished chapter while I work it out. :)

Daryl wrapped his arm around Rick in a very pointed way, and guided him back into the church. Morgan followed more slowly, and Glenn and Abraham were firing questions at him with every step. Rick tried to turn back to help his friend, but Daryl tightened his grip a little, and Rick realized Daryl was upset.

“You okay?” he asked, turning back to Daryl.

“I’m fine,” Daryl said. “Rough trip is all.”

“Trouble?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Daryl paused. “Abraham’s a hell of a fighter.”

Rick rubbed his head. “I had noticed that. Get anything good?” he asked when they came to the pile of bags, where the others must have dropped them when they saw trouble.

“Yes,” Glenn said, coming up to join them with Maggie at his side. “We got the hoses we need for the bus, and some stuff for Judith,” he continued as he started shifting through the bags, handing one to Maggie and hefting another onto his shoulder.

“Really?” Rick asked, trying to poke at one of the bags.

Daryl nodded, pulling the bag away from him and pulling the strap over his head. “Playpen, some toys.”

“And clothes,” Maggie said brightly, “don’t forget those.” 

“Thank you,” Rick said, touched. “That’s real great.”

Abraham stopped hassling Morgan long enough to help carry in some of the bags. “We found some spices, too,” he said proudly. 

“I thought you were going for necessities?” Rick asked, gently teasing.

“It ain’t necessary everything tastes like ass,” Abraham snarked, and pushed into the church with two massive bags over his shoulders. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Rosita said, smacking his arm with the back of her hand. “I helped with dinner last night, you know.”

Abraham squinted. “I did not know that,” he admitted, slightly subdued.

Rick smiled at their byplay.

Daryl, still holding him close to his side, asked, “You sure you’re okay?”

Rick turned his head to look at him, wanting to meet his eyes for this. “I am,” he said, and smiled.

It had been tough, telling Morgan. But at the same time, it was like a poison had been drained. He felt weak, lightheaded, but also lighter, less burdened, and he leaned into Daryl’s touch.

“Well, okay,” Daryl said, pleased.

Rick remembered that Morgan was behind them. He still didn’t know what Daryl was thinking about their relationship, if they had one, whether he wanted anyone else to know. But Daryl didn’t pull away, and Rick let himself relax.

Maggie was pulling out the play pen when they got inside, and Beth was helping her set it up, a little clumsy with her casted wrist. Judith was hugging a stuffed toy, and Rick felt so grateful, seeing her happy like this. Daryl finally let go of Rick, going over to swoop Judy up in his arms, toy and all. She squealed, and Rick smiled, watching them.

Glenn started to walk by him, his arms full of auto parts.

“You getting started already?” Rick asked him.

“Yeah,” Glenn nodded. “Want to get on the road soon, if we can.”

“Sounds good,” he said, and Glenn nodded to him before heading back outside.

“You guys going somewhere?” Morgan asked.

“The kid from Atlanta,” Rick explained. “His folks live up north, and we were gonna help him get home.”

Morgan smiled, and something about it seemed satisfied. “That’s a real good thing, Rick.”

Rick ducked his head, looked down. 

“Hey,” Morgan said, touching Rick’s arm gently. “I mean it.”

“I know you do,” Rick managed.

“Come on,” Morgan said, “let’s see what else they found.” 

Taking that excuse gratefully, Rick went with him to join the others.

* * *

Later that night, when they’d eaten, and Glenn had come back and announced the bus fixed – for real this time – and they’d decided to leave in the morning, Rick sat down on his pew next to Daryl, and wished they had a little privacy.

Abraham and Rosita had ducked outside earlier. Rosita had gone first, maybe trying to be discreet. Before following, horrifyingly enough, Abraham had told the room at large that he needed ‘a bit of ass’ before sleeping that night. Rick really hadn’t needed to know that. 

“TMI,” Glenn muttered, and Beth had slapped her hands over Carl’s ears, but too late to help, and he was giggling in her grip. 

Rick had smiled, watching them.

But now all he could think about now was Daryl.

There were just a few candles still flickering in the church, and in its warm light Daryl’s brown hair seemed lined with gold. His head was tilted down, like he was looking at the floor, or his feet, and bits of hair hung over his face. With his elbows braced on his knees, Daryl shifted a bit. He was just wearing his vest and a short sleeved shirt, and the candlelight cast dark shadows across his skin as his muscles flexed. 

Rick was bundled against the autumn chill, exhausted and underfed, and even though not everyone could be asleep yet, and there was more than enough light to see by, he leaned into Daryl’s side. 

It was a risk. But Daryl had been closer, lately, initiating touch more often, and Rick kept his hands down, hopefully signaling he wasn’t a threat. Rick wasn’t sure how this should work. He was a bit nervous, but Daryl didn’t throw him off or flinch away – he just shifted, and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in tighter. Rick sighed with relief as warmth started to diffuse through him.

“You really okay with this Morgan guy?” Daryl asked quietly, leaning back and pulling Rick with him. 

Rick settled into the new position, which put his head just on Daryl’s shoulder, with room to stretch out his legs along the pew. “He’s a good man,” Rick murmured. “He just … lost his way for a while.”

Daryl was silent for a moment, then tilted his head so it rested against Rick’s. Something in Rick’s chest sort of … unfolded, and he melted against Daryl. 

“Anything to say he won’t lose his way again?” Daryl said then.

“No,” Rick admitted. “But ain’t that true for all of us?”

Daryl _hmm_ ed a small noise underneath his breath, but didn’t say anything else. They sat in silence for a while. Rick watched the flickering of the candlelight, enjoying the feel of Daryl against him. They fell asleep that way, slowly, and for once, Rick didn’t worry about waking up.

* * *

The next morning, Rick woke in Daryl’s arms, and knew it would be a good day.

Daryl helped him up, but he probably hadn’t needed to. Rick felt okay. Not great, but not dizzy either, and any lingering headache was a minor background throb compared to how it had been. The sun was out, the others were up and packing amid a cheerful bustle, and Rick felt pretty damn good, all considering.

They loaded up the bus and the minivan with their supplies, which were substantial in a way that made Rick feel secure, looking at the piles of food and clothes and medical kits. Carol was given a bench seat on the bus to herself, so she could stretch out, and Abraham volunteered to drive the larger vehicle, citing his military experience, so Rosita of course went with him. Glenn, Maggie, and Beth decided to take the bus, as well, and Tara of course had to join them. 

Daryl said he wanted to keep the minivan, and insisted on driving, so that placed Rick, Michonne, Carl, Judith, and Tyreese, who insisted on staying close to the toddler. Sasha and Bob were undecided, but when Morgan asked to take a place in the minivan with Rick, that settled it, and they put their things in the bus with the others. 

Noah seemed torn, like he’d wanted to ride with Tyreese, but also like he wanted to stick close to Beth. In the end, he chose Beth, and Rick thought again that there might be a little romance going on between them. Carl’s crush might be ill-fated.

Rick thought, nostalgically, that it was a tiny bit like organizing a school field trip. Because of his job he hadn’t gotten to help out with that kind of thing often, but Lori would tell him about the day, and the trouble they’d had with kids being assigned to one bus but wanting to sit with a friend on another, and the roll being inaccurate because of it and the missing kid alert going out, even though it wasn’t needed. The back and forth and the division of space reminded him of those stories, a little. 

A little after nine o’clock in the morning, near as anyone could figure, they pulled out of the church yard in a small convoy of two. In the front passenger seat next to Daryl, Rick turned to look back at the church that had so unexpectedly been such a haven for them these past days. It looked smaller, dingier, as they drove away, and after a few moments he turned resolutely to face the road ahead.

“You okay?” Daryl asked, not looking over at him.

“Yeah,” Rick said. “I think I’m good.”

The minivan took the lead, since it was smaller and made a better scout vehicle. The bus stayed behind them, not too close. That had been Abraham’s idea, and his argument had been that the relative vulnerability of the minivan might entice an attack. If the bus was too close, they would be attacked too. But if they hung back a little, they could swoop in for a rescue.

Rick wasn’t entirely sure that made sense, but everyone had agreed, and so now the bus kept about a quarter mile behind them. It made Rick slightly uneasy, to look back and not always see the bus there – around corners, and over the slightest hill, he’d lose sight of them.

The others were talking, and Rick tuned back in as Tyreese asked Morgan about his new philosophy. Morgan was explaining the martial art he’d learned, and the staff he’d retrieved from behind a tree as they packed up. Rick was only grateful he hadn’t come into the church with a weapon. 

“So you can stop a person without killing them?” Tyreese was asking. He sounded interested, and Rick started to pay attention. “What if they get back up?”

“That’s the idea,” Morgan said, smiling. “Once they see you can put them down again, most people back off.”

“And if they don’t?” Rick asked. “What then?”

Morgan met Rick’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Then you tie them up, or confine them.”

“And if you can’t do that?” Carl asked.

“Then you run.” Morgan looked serious then. “It’s not worth another life, to keep a thing, or a place.”

Rick didn’t answer, and fell silent as the others continued discussing it. There were so many times when he'd killed for things, or for a place. But there were also times when the lack of that place or thing would have lead to his own death, or the deaths of the people he loved. A long time ago, his father had told him that there was a reason horse thieving used to be a hanging offense - in the harsh realities of the wild, unsettled West, taking a man's horse was the same as leaving him to die. Rick didn't think things now were any different. Without the bus, his people would be stuck at the church, or on foot. He would kill anyone who tried to take it from them. 

The others in the back kept talking, debating, and as their voices got louder, Daryl seemed to get smaller, somehow, shrinking in the driver’s seat to draw less attention to himself. Rick could only wonder if he were thinking along similar lines. Daryl had killed for things before, he knew. They had all killed for the prison.

Rick looked out at the road again, letting the others’ voices wash over him. Morgan might have a point, a good point. But Rick had to protect his people. If he couldn’t do that … None of it was worth anything if he couldn’t do that.

They drove on for a while like that. The sun was bright in the sky by this time, and it was a blue, cloudless sky that stretched out above them, and the trees they were driving under cast dappled shadows across the car, creating a sort of flickering effect through the sparser tree cover, and just occasional glints of light where the forest was thicker. 

After an hour or so, the others had finally tired of debating the topic, and it got quiet in the car. Rick listened to the sound of the tires on the road for a bit, then turned to Daryl. “Where do you think we’re headed?” he asked.

Daryl shrugged. “There’ll be a town ahead.” He cast a sideways glance at Rick, looking quickly back at the road. “We should stop someplace for the night, look around for more stuff.”

Rick nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good idea.” He paused. “Not at the first place we come to, though.”

“Nah,” Daryl said. “Before dark, though.”

“We should avoid Athens,” Rick said. “It’s too big, probably overrun.”

Daryl glanced around. “We need to cut west soon,” he said. “Or way north.”

Rick pulled out the map they’d been using, and tried to trace the smaller roads, like winding streams, along either path.

“Well if we try to go west now,” he said, “we’re going to have to push south again. Unless you know a road cuts through Oconee. Damn national parks.”

Daryl hummed. “Not sure. Not all the way through.”

“Right,” Rick said. “So, north. We have to go north anyway.” He traced his finger up the page. They were traveling through a state park, now, running a nearly straight road northeast. He read a sign as they slowly drove past – Fairplay Road. Hell of a thing.

“What’re you thinking?” Daryl asked.

Rick went back to the map. “I want to avoid most of these towns, but we’re gonna hit Bostwick, doesn’t look like we can avoid it.”

Daryl waggled one hand in a gesture of ambivalence. “Maybe not according to the map, but there’s all kinda small roads around these nowhere towns.”

Rick pulled the map closer, squinting at the smaller roads, fine as spider silk. “Well, okay, there is a sort of bypass just east of there.”

“Now we’re talking.”

They were making good time. The road was surprisingly clear, with just a few abandoned cars dotting the narrow strip of asphalt, and as they got further north the trees thinned out. They would pass a sudden clearing that had once held a farmer’s field, carved right out of the forest. Those increased in number, and eventually the trees thinned out, and they were driving through fields split by neater rows of trees, following the lines of smaller creeks and ditches, or planted as windbreaks.

It got warmer in the car as they left the tree cover, for the most part, and the sun heated the windows. Rick leaned back, confident Daryl could navigate the winding, tiny roads, and basked in his patch of sunlight, almost hot on his face and his closed eyelids.

The occasional tree cast a shadow across his patch of sunlight, and the alternation of light and shadow created patterns on the backs of his eyelids, shapes in the darkness. He lost himself a bit, letting the shapes form as they would, almost hypnotic in the smooth abstractions. In that meditative state, he felt a hand reach across the center console and take his. Rick smiled, not opening his eyes, and curled his fingers around Daryl’s grip.

At some point they turned east, Daryl pausing until the bus had them in view and then turning down an even smaller road that cut through a stand of pine trees. It was getting even warmer, and Daryl cracked his window a bit, letting in a cool breeze and the smell of pine. Rick sat up a little, surveying this new road.

The trees were so close it was almost like driving through a tunnel, and there was a pile up of three cars and a truck just up ahead. Rick pointed to it, and Daryl grunted, slowing to a stop as they approached.

“You stay here,” Daryl said gruffly, jumping out to check out the cars. Seeing what he was doing, Morgan grabbed his staff and joined him. Together, they killed the two walkers still trapped in the wrecks, and Rick watched them check for supplies before returning almost empty handed. Morgan had found a granola bar, and Daryl had found a bunch of those hair things the girls liked.

“Not a complete loss,” Rick said jokingly when Daryl showed him the colorful rubber bands.

Daryl snorted, and threw the tangled bunch in Rick’s lap, and they drove on.

* * *

The small road took them to the bypass, which got them past Bostwick and headed northeast through thick stands of pine, the occasional field, and then they turned due north before they ran into Watkinsville.

Rick traced his finger over the tiny lines of the map, following the little twists and turns with a blunt finger. 

They were on Union Church Road when they drove past a little suburb, the kind you would’ve seen everywhere back in the 50s, little post-war houses in bright colors in neat little rows. They looked a bit disheveled, now, grass high in the postage stamp yards, red or blue or yellow paint faded and scraped up. Shortly after they passed a high school, big and new-looking even in its decay, they came to a split in the road.

Pausing for the bus to catch up, they turned left to bypass most of the suburban sprawl, still heading north, but increasingly west in ways that must be aggravating Abraham and even Noah, Rick thought.

Another left, and another pause for the bus.

“I’m not sure this is even working,” Rick muttered, peering down at the map.

Daryl sighed. “Yeah.”

“We should probably talk to Abraham, work out a strategy.”

“Next time we stop,” Daryl suggested.

“Speaking of …” Morgan began, leaning forward in his seat to peer at something to their right.

“What is it?” Daryl asked, slowing a bit.

“That looks like a doctor’s office,” Morgan said, pointing at a storefront in a pleasant-looking collection of businesses. Like a strip mall, but fancier. The sign he pointed to had an odd, punny name that didn't strike Rick as very medical, but Morgan insisted.

"It's a chain," Morgan said, moving his hand to rest it on Rick's shoulder. "I been to one, in Gainesville."

“Think there’ll be anything?” Rick asked, squinting at the road ahead of them. 

“Worth checking out,” Daryl said, and that was that.

They stopped a short distance from the building, observing the empty, abandoned parking lot and the intact plate glass windows. Letting the engine idle, Daryl peered through the windshield, waiting for anything to move.

“It looks quiet,” Tyreese said. Judith made a small sound, and Rick heard Carl shushing her. 

After a few minutes, the bus pulled up behind them, its brakes squeaking lightly, and a bright red bush of hair was stuck out the window.

“What the flying squirrel snot is happening?” Abraham yelled at them.

That didn’t attract any walkers, at least none they could see, so Daryl yelled back, “Scavenging.”

Both engines cut out, and Rick climbed out of the minivan.

Glenn was first out of the bus, looking mildly annoyed, and he came right over to Rick.

“Everything okay?” Rick asked.

Glenn paused for a second. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just. It’s nothing.” He gestured toward the office buildings. “What’ve we got?”

“Morgan says it’s a doctor’s office,” Rick said, just as Daryl was coming around the van to join them and Morgan opened the sliding side door of the van.

“Let’s do this,” Glenn said, as Sasha joined them, checking the clip in her gun.

The sun was high, and warm even with the cool breeze coming out of the north. The trees would be turning color soon, and Rick thought he saw gray clouds to the east.

They moved together smoothly, Morgan following their lead as they made it to the front glass door, like he’d been with them all along. They lined up on either side, then Glenn smashed the glass and got the door open, and they were in.

The air in the office was stale, like the doors hadn’t been opened since the end of the world. They moved past the front desk, prowling through the bit of open space before splitting off in twos to check each office, using flashlights and penlights to navigate the darkened rooms. They moved with near-soundless precision. Rick stayed with Daryl, and they worked together as well as they always had. It was like having another part of himself, but outside of himself, Daryl and he were so in tune. They cleared one room, then another. The others were working just as quiet, just as fast, the occasional bang of a door kicked open the only sound.

The place seemed quiet, and they cleared one room after another – waiting rooms with chairs and magazines on the coffee tables, exam rooms with padded tables, file rooms, bathrooms. It seemed so quiet, eventually Daryl eased off, and let Rick take the lead. Rick was happy to back Daryl up, but somehow it felt natural to have Daryl at his back as he cleared the next few rooms.

“Place is like a maze,” Daryl said quietly as they entered another exam room.

“Yeah,” Rick said, sweeping the beam of his flashlight around. “A lot of stuff still here.” Even just this room had rubbing alcohol and bandages, swabs and antibiotic ointment, enough to deal with minor injuries. 

He shouldered into the next room.

And out of the darkness, a walker lurched out.

It ran into him, and he fell. Its thin body fell on top of him, a light weight, barely there, but he was twisted awkwardly. Almost on his back, he was holding it off with a forearm against its neck. Its teeth snapped at him. The cheek had worn through on one side, and he could see the straining tendons, a thin web against the blackened teeth. His arm shook.

Daryl grabbed it by the hair and put a knife through its temple.

Rick sagged to the floor, the sudden spike of adrenaline as suddenly leaving him.

“You okay?” Daryl asked, and he reached down one hand.

Rick took it, and let Daryl pull him to his feet. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

Daryl nodded, but didn’t seem ready to let go of his hand. Rick looked down at their linked hands, and gave Daryl’s a gentle squeeze. “I’m good,” he said. “Promise.”

“Need to be more careful,” Daryl gruffed, but returned the squeeze before going back to their sweep of the final hallway.

Eventually the building was clear, and they regrouped in the main entry way. 

“Everything look good?” Rick asked, trying to catch Glenn’s eye.

Glenn caught his look, and nodded. “There’s a lot of stuff, Rick. We should take some time, really clear it out.”

Rick looked out the front glass door. “How long until dark?”

Daryl tilted his head. “We got four hours, maybe.”

It was starting to get dark so early. Rick sighed. “We might as well make camp here for the night.”

He expected Abraham to object, but the big man nodded. “Be nice to have a bed to sleep in,” he said, apparently referring to the exam beds.

Rick blinked. Abraham seemed so different, now that the pressure to get to DC was gone. 

The others agreed as readily, even Noah, and Abraham went out to start unloading the things they would need for the night while the rest of them started going back through the rooms, this time for supplies.

Rick watched them go, and turned back toward the section he and Daryl had cleared. Through the open door, the darkness of the hallway seemed to creep at the edges, and Rick watched it warily.

“What is it?” Daryl asked him, pausing at the opening of the hallway.

“We gotta clean out that walker,” Rick said, still looking at the darkness. “Don’t want to stay in here with it overnight.”

Daryl sighed. “Yeah, I got it. Come on.”

And Rick followed.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They spend the night in the clinic, and Rick and Daryl finally have a moment alone.

It was a profitable search. The odd name had put off any other survivors, and they found rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs, exam gloves, hand sanitizer, syringes, Vaseline, paper towels, toilet paper in the bathrooms, bandages and rolls of gauze. Even the magazines would be useful for entertainment or kindling. They took almost everything, and piled it near the front to be sorted into bags. 

Rick hesitated over things like strange rubber tubing, odd bits of stainless steel that looked more like torture devices. “Bob?” he called, holding up a plastic bag, vacuum sealed, with a coil of tubing and steel … things inside. 

Bob poked his head through the door a minute later. “What you got?” he asked.

Rick held up his find wordlessly, both eyebrows raised.

“Sweet, a trach kit,” Bob said, coming into the room. “Take it.” He looked over Rick’s shoulder, into the bin he’d opened. “Man, what else you got in there?”

“I have no idea,” Rick said, looking down at what, to him, seemed like a jumble of chaos. 

“Let me swap with you,” Bob said, laughing a little. “I’ll sort this, you go help Sasha with the kitchen.”

“There’s a kitchen?” Rick asked, letting Bob take the trach kit from him.

“Yeah, a little employee break room kinda thing. There’s a fridge, Sasha was working on it.”

Rick found Sasha, as promised, holding a trash bag while Glenn, his head stuck so far inside the mini fridge that Rick could only see his shoulders, would occasionally throw something at her, blindly, counting on her ability to catch the small baggie of nuts, or can of sliced fruits. Rick watched them from the doorway.

“People put weird shit in the fridge,” Rick commented after a while.

They didn’t jump – he hadn’t startled them – and Sasha rolled her eyes at him before ducking to catch another bag of beef jerky. “All kinds of stuff is better cold,” she pointed out, “even if it doesn’t have to be.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Rick agreed, moving to check the row of cabinets. 

They got everyone in and moved the bus to block the now-broken front glass door. Using some of their blankets and a few sheets from the clinic, they got the plate glass windows blocked, and a fire started in the front room, close enough to the broken door that the smoke would seep out rather than suffocating them.

In the last hours of daylight they searched the other businesses in the strip mall, and while the fancy-looking liquor store had been fairly picked through, the cell phone store hadn’t been touched, and they found a surprising number of snacks and unopened sodas. They gathered around the little fire as the sun set and shared out the little packets of cookies and candy to the kids, Beth and Carl and Noah, and Glenn snagged a soda for himself, grimacing at the taste.

“Don’t like ‘em anymore?” Maggie asked.

“Liked it better cold,” Glenn muttered, and Rick couldn’t help laughing.

“Hey,” Daryl said, handing Rick one of the sodas.

“Um, thanks,” Rick said, still smiling. Daryl ducked his head, and Rick felt something warm rise up in his chest. “Thanks,” he said again, lowering his voice, and cracking open the bottle with a sharp twist and a fizz from the released gasses. 

“Still fizzy,” Carl said, slurping at his Mountain Dew.

“You’re never gonna get to sleep tonight,” Tara said, somewhat teasingly. “That stuff’s nothing but caffeine.”

“And sugar,” Michonne said. Rick noticed neither of them had accepted one of the tepid drinks.

“I’ll take first watch, then,” Carl said carelessly, chugging another few mouthfuls.

They stayed up a while after that. The company was good, and the mood was surprisingly light. Abraham kept his distance from Eugene, and they didn’t talk, but in a way that helped, and soon enough Rosita made a show of being tired and dragged Abraham off to one of the exam rooms. Bob and Sasha did the same a few minutes later, and after a time Glenn and Maggie tried to sneak off, though it was becoming more obvious with every couple what they were up to.

“Young love,” Carol muttered, nudging Daryl’s shoulder with her own. Daryl didn’t respond, and on his other side Rick pressed their thighs together, offering what support he could.

“I think it’s nice,” Morgan said, smiling at Carol. She smiled back, after a moment.

Michonne chuckled, and Carl was looking between the adults, an intense look of curiosity on his face. Beth leaned over and murmured something in his ear, and he sat back, looking pensive. 

“Do you think we’ll make it further tomorrow?” Noah asked then.

The air of humor stilled, somewhat. “Hard to say,” Michonne admitted. 

“There could be road blocks,” Carol began listing. “Herds, pile-ups, trees down.”

“I know,” Noah said, rubbing his arms like he was cold. “I get it. We have to be careful.”

“We’ll get there,” Beth said, smiling at him. 

Noah seemed to accept that as an answer, and the conversation moved on, regaining some of its lighter currents. Rick tried to follow along for a while. Carol was telling Morgan about finding Tyreese and Judith, and Tyreese was adding tiny bits to her story. Michonne had moved to a far corner to discuss something with Tara, who was nodding very seriously. 

The kids were high on sugar, and chattering at each other; Beth seemed to lose a fraction of that new hardness she’d gained at Grady hospital with every hour that passed, and Rick was so glad to see it.

But it was getting later, and in spite of his nap earlier Rick was starting to nod off. “I might turn in,” he told Daryl, blinking slowly.

Daryl hesitated for a moment, and said, “I got you set up in that office.”

“What about Judith?” Rick asked, looking around for her, the room swooping gently with each movement of his head.

“I’ve got her for tonight, Rick,” Beth said, smiling softly. She had spent a lot of time with Judith at the prison, and it occurred to Rick that she might have missed that. “You just get some rest.”

“Well, thanks,” he said, scratching at the stubble on his cheek.

Noah was watching Beth with a smitten look in his eyes. Carl had moved to watch the front window, and part of Rick hoped the boys wouldn’t realize their conflicting interests for a little while.

Looking around at his family, faces content and even merry in the flickering firelight, Rick felt, in spite of the circumstances, as if he were home.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, and received a chorus of responses. Feeling warm, and cared for, Rick took one of the candles and slipped down the dark hallway to the room Daryl had set aside for him.

The lack of windows made the shadows deep, and dark, and Rick moved carefully through the room. There wasn’t much to it, just the exam table, a small counter with a sink, some cabinets above it. He needed to put together some kind of bed, he knew. But he was so tired.

Rick was just standing there, not sure what to do next, when Daryl slipped in behind him.

“Brought you this,” Daryl said, his voice gruff, his arms full of blankets.

Rick tilted his head. “Thanks, man,” he said, taking one of the blankets. He felt sort of sheepish for forgetting something so basic.

“No problem,” Daryl said. 

And he didn’t leave.

Rick looked at him, at the open door behind him. The only light came from the two candles they’d kept. Daryl closed the door. Took a step forward.

There was something about the look in his eye that sparked a corresponding fire in Rick’s belly.

Daryl settled his candle in a puddle of wax on the small counter, next to the dust-filled sink, and moved to pull the padded cover off the exam table and lay it out on the floor with a few of the blankets. It created a bit of a nest, and Rick looked down at it. Nervousness curled at the base of Rick’s spine, causing his fingers to twitch. They hadn’t discussed this at all, any of it, and now that it really came down to it he wasn’t sure what would be expected of him tonight. Or ever.

But he trusted Daryl. He just had to remember that, and everything would be okay.

The few kisses they’d shared had been so spontaneous that, by contrast, this moment felt deliberate, and planned, and Rick caught himself starting to hyperventilate. He couldn’t remember when he’d been this hard.

Daryl looked calm, but that didn’t always mean he really was calm. Rick gulped in a breath, and forced himself to release it more slowly, and Daryl took a step to close the distance between them. Placing both hands on Rick’s shoulders, Daryl ducked his head a bit to peer into Rick’s eyes. Daryl didn’t meet other people’s eyes very often, Rick had noticed, and now, as with every time Daryl’s eyes met his, he felt pinned in place by them, as if great, significant communication were passing between them.

After a long moment of this silent staring, Daryl said, “We don’t have to do nothing.” His voice was soft, but his hands were grasping Rick’s shoulders with a desperate strength, and Rick thought he could tell how much this meant to the other man.

Rick reached out, carefully, and touched Daryl’s waist. Daryl’s eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch, and Rick thought again about how rarely Daryl would let other people near him. Suddenly, he felt … trusted. “I want to,” Rick said, “I just … I never, I don’t know …”

Daryl’s grip loosened, though he didn’t let go, carefully and almost reverently drawing Rick down to the nest of blankets with him.

Kneeling together on the cushion, Daryl pulled him close and into a kiss. Daryl’s lips moved against his, and something sparked in Rick’s belly. He surged up, pressing into Daryl, and Daryl started pulling at his shirt. Rick pulled back just long enough to help Daryl get the shirt over his head, and then he dove back in, feeling Daryl’s hands smoothing on his bare skin, and the nervousness melted into warmth. Daryl was fumbling a little, now, hands clumsy as his breath came quicker. Rick felt undone, seeing Daryl like this. Daryl was working at the button of Rick’s jeans, and Rick pulled at Daryl’s vest.

Daryl stilled.

Rick stopped, pulled his hands back. “This okay?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, not wanting to add any pressure.

Daryl drew in a breath, nodded. And moving slowly, he drew the vest down over his arms, and set it on the floor. His movements had become tentative, and Rick bit his lip, wondering if what he was doing was the right thing.

“I’m okay,” Daryl said, seeming to sense Rick’s returned nervousness.

“Okay,” Rick managed. “I’m okay, too.”

“Okay, then,” Daryl said, and Rick’s lips quirked into a grin.

That broke the sudden solemnity, and Daryl was yanking his shirt off over his head and Rick was unbuttoning his own jeans, letting them hang open as he moved to work on Daryl’s cargo pants. Daryl went to help him, and their fingers collided and tangled together and Rick huffed a small laugh and Daryl was actually smiling, a small, secretive smile that Rick hadn’t seen very often. 

“This is good,” Rick said, partly a question.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, and cupped the back of Rick’s head, fingers working at the curls there. 

Rick shivered. He’d felt this hand in this place before. He blinked. Shook off the feeling, and turned his head to kiss Daryl’s wrist, his arm, working up to his neck and Daryl threw his head back, groaning softly. 

Neither of them were accustomed to making noise anymore, and it seemed natural to pull Daryl’s head down and kiss his mouth, swallowing any sound.

Daryl stretched out, and Rick went down with him, and they were lying together as Rick toed off his boots, thinking sheepishly that he should’ve done that first and Daryl had to sit up again to work at the laces of his shoes. 

Even in the dim light of the single candle, Rick could see the deep scarring on Daryl’s back, silvery lash marks streaking across his pale skin. Anger shivered through him, and putting together any number of moments and small conversations he realized Daryl’s father must have done this horrible thing.

Daryl had gone still again, and Rick stuffed the anger down, placing a gentle hand on Daryl’s shoulder.

At the touch, Daryl turned to kiss him again, lowering himself over Rick so that Rick was pressed down against the cushion, Daryl warm and heavy over him. Rick moaned, feeling Daryl’s erection even through the fabric of their pants, and Daryl thrust against him for a moment. Rick ran his hands along Daryl’s arms, his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath his weather-roughened skin as he moved, his own hips jerking up helplessly in response.

Daryl caught on a button, and bit out a short curse, pulling back a little to shove his pants down and Rick squirmed under him, trying to reach his own jeans and work them down his thighs. Daryl pressed himself down against Rick again, and reached between them, grasping both their cocks in one broad hand. Rick’s eyes fell closed, almost against his will, and he pushed up into Daryl’s strong grip. He was clutching at whatever part of Daryl he could reach, and Daryl drew his hand up, jacking them together. His hand was dry, and Rick shuddered at the tugging, rough pull, thrusting up into it. 

Daryl’s fingers, rough and calloused, twisted at his most sensitive skin, and Rick rolled them over, carefully, catching Daryl’s eyes to warn him. Once he was on top, he grabbed Daryl’s wrist, pulled his hand up, and licked a broad stripe across Daryl’s palm. His skin tasted faintly of salt. Rick licked his lips, still staring into Daryl’s eyes, and so he saw Daryl’s pupils dilate at the motion.

Rick smiled, and Daryl reached between them again and, moving easier now, resumed his grip. Rick shivered at the rough touch, better now with the hint of wetness, and as precome began to smooth the way Rick relaxed and thrust down into Daryl’s hold.

The feeling of it crackled through him like lightning, thought a strange sense of weakness followed, and Rick’s head sank down to rest on Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl grabbed the back of Rick’s head again, and held it in place to press a rough, affectionate kiss to the side of Rick’s jaw.

Rick ground his forehead against Daryl’s shoulder, a great tension rising in him. He was thrusting into Daryl’s hand, feeling Daryl hot and hard against him, and he gasped in a desperate breath and came.

Daryl kept jacking them and Rick shuddered as his over-sensitive skin was rubbed one way by the thrusting of Daryl’s cock and the other way by the movements of Daryl’s hand. Rick sank down, all his energy lost, and sagged against Daryl, and as he fell against Daryl’s chest Daryl bit his lower lip, hard enough to turn the skin white, and then he came, the spill a hot wash across Rick’s thighs.

Rick went limp, still sprawled across Daryl’s body, as exhaustion rushed through him. He wanted to say something, but it seemed like the world was getting darker in ways that had nothing to do with their flickering little candle. There was movement, and he grumbled in protest but his eyes were closed, he didn't remember that happening, and Daryl was sliding out from underneath him. He could hear the other man moving softly through the room. After a time, he lost track. Things seemed to slow.

He felt a wet cloth, suddenly, running across his groin, and he flinched.

“It’s okay,” Daryl said quietly, and Rick hummed a small sound and the world faded away.

* * *

Rick woke after a time.

It was still dark. Their little candle had burned out, but his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, enough that he could make out the dim outlines of the counter, and the bare exam table.

He was alone.

His heart sank.

He struggled to his feet. His legs felt strange, distant beneath him, and as he went out into the dark hallway he felt like he couldn’t feel his feet moving beneath him.

There was no sound.

He called out for Daryl, but there was no response. “Carl?” he called, but heard nothing, just an oppressive silence. He went down the hallway, which seemed longer than it had before, when he hadn’t been alone, and tried each door. He knew Maggie and Glenn should be here somewhere, and Sasha and Bob, but each room he tried was empty. “Abraham?” he tried, as a last resort, but even that readheaded asshole was missing.

He suddenly thought of Judith, and his heart was drumming in his chest. He was moving faster down the hallway, and faster. He made it to the front entry room, but there was just the secretary’s desk and a pot with no plant in it and no sign of his family.

“Carl?” he tried again. “Daryl?”

But there was nothing.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Back down the dark hallway, there was, if not a sound, the impression of a sound, and Rick turned. It was still black as a moonless night. But at the end of the hallway, and the very end, past the doors and the exam rooms and the file rooms, there was a final door that somehow he hadn’t noticed before.

He moved toward it.

Around the edges of that strange door, he could see a seeping line of red light.

“Rick!”

Rick bolted upright.

He was gasping. “Daryl?” he asked.

Daryl had his shoulders in a firm grip, and he shook Rick one more time.

“You awake?” he demanded.

Rick panted for a moment, staring around. 

It was dawn, or just before. The room was filled with a dim, gray light. Daryl was next to him in their nest of blankets, and Rick was sweating, his chest heaving with every breath. 

“I think so,” he said, turning back to look at Daryl.

Daryl leaned back a little, and he didn’t seem to want to meet Rick’s eyes. “That was a hell of a nightmare,” he said, removing his hands from Rick's shoulders like they'd been stuck there.

“I guess,” Rick replied, the details already fading. He shook his head. Daryl tossed him a handkerchief, and Rick wiped his face and neck, shivering as the cool air hit his skin.

“You okay?” Daryl asked, lying back on the cushion. Rick followed him, and they lay down together, and Rick curled in a little closer, not quite touching, as one detail from the dream came back to him. 

“I am now,” he assured Daryl, and Daryl moved a little closer to him, and Rick turned his head so he could see the dim outline of Daryl’s silhouette, and they lay there together for a time.

Neither of them fell back asleep. They didn’t talk, either. But as the sun rose and their little room got lighter, Rick was comforted by the sound of Daryl’s breathing.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, a misunderstanding causes a rift.

Rick must have dozed off. He was conscious of being warm. He thought he felt arms around him, holding him to a broad chest, and the sensation felt familiar, reminding him of an unexpected haven in Atlanta, and Daryl’s care of him. His eyes closed, he knew the close darkness, and thought on Daryl’s broad, strong hands, the unexpected tenderness, and how safe he felt.

After a time, he was startled by Daryl creeping off the shared exam table pad – subtle movements that nevertheless caused Rick to stir and blink his eyes open. 

The sunlight filtering into the room from the hallway cast the room in a dim twilight. Even so, Rick could see Daryl moving about the room, pulling on his jeans with forceful gestures. Rick propped himself up onto one elbow, a line forming between his brows.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice a sleep-roughened rasp.

Daryl froze, for a moment, then turned to face him. “’s fine,” he said lowly.

Rick frowned, and felt the need to scoot up a little more so that he was more upright. Better able to face a threat. “Where’re you going?”

Daryl shrugged. Wouldn’t look at him. “Get something to eat.”

Rick subsided. “Well, okay.” He looked up at Daryl’s back, at the scars he’d been so careful of last night, as Daryl covered them with jerky, rough movements. “Are you upset with me?”

Daryl’s movements slowed a bit. “Not mad.”

Rick pulled himself up, even though he would have liked to doze for a little longer. “Wait a minute, I’ll come with you.”

Daryl looked at him then, but used the familiar trick of hiding behind his hair. “You shouldn’t … I shouldn’t have....”

“What?” Rick asked, stilling.

Daryl shook his head, not meeting Rick’s gaze, and stomped his feet into his boots before heading toward the front reception room of the offices. Rick listened to him go, but didn’t look up.

Rick swallowed. Daryl must not want anyone to know what they’d done. “Okay,” he said to himself, stamping down his confusion and hurt.

Maybe they should have talked last night.

Rick suddenly felt very alone in the small room. He looked around at his things, scattered across the sterile floor, his jeans crumpled by the counter, the blue checked shirt thrown across the bare exam table. Tossed aside.

He had to pull himself together. It was just sex. That was fine, he could do that.

Ignoring that he never had. That it had been Lori for him and no one else until she’d betrayed him.

He stood up slowly. His legs felt a little shaky, and his head was throbbing but in a subdued, manageable way. Moving slowly, he pulled on his clothes. His hands were shaking a little, and he sighed, running one over his face. When it had been five or ten minutes, he pulled on his boots, and followed Daryl.

He heard voices before he’d gotten to the end of the hallway – cheerful, some laughter, and the clinking of utensils on pots or pans. The warm smell of oatmeal drifted toward him, but his stomach cramped in response. He had to stop at the end of the hallway, just out of sight of the reception area where the others were gathering around the relit fire. 

“Where’s Rick?” he heard Beth asking Daryl, and he imagined the expression that must be on Daryl’s face. He couldn’t hear Daryl’s answer, but in a way that was more than enough information.

Rick realized his arms were wrapped around his middle, bracing his ribs. He couldn’t help but remember how Daryl had looked before leaving him this morning. Almost … ashamed. 

He sucked in a labored breath. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe Daryl thought it had been a mistake. Oh god.

With that encouraging thought, he braced himself, and rounded the corner.

He wasn’t the last one up, at least. Maggie was up, sitting next to Beth and laughing at something her sister had said, but Glenn must be sleeping in, Rick thought, along with Sasha, without whom Bob looked almost off balance. He sat near Tyreese, and Noah was with them, and they were talking very seriously about something. Rick left them to it, not wanting to intrude. Eugene was sitting in a corner by himself, and Tara had taken a spot not too far away, seeming both supportive and distant, somehow.

Rick looked over to where Daryl had settled on Beth’s other side. That left only one open space in this smaller circle, next to Carol, who smiled and waved him over. Michonne was sitting on her other side, and she leaned around Carol to pass Rick a bowl of oatmeal.

“Thanks,” he said roughly, and took a bite. He wasn’t very hungry, but forced himself to eat anyway.

Carol was watching him force in each spoonful, and she patted his knee after a few minutes. “You okay?”

He nodded, unconvincingly. He wanted desperately to look over at Daryl, but he was also scared to see rejection in those blue eyes.

Carol leaned a little closer, and lowered her voice. “Did something happen?”

Rick glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “No. Or, well.” He paused, looked back down at his oatmeal. “Maybe.” Part of the problem was he couldn’t be sure what had happened. Or, no, not that. He couldn’t be sure what it meant, which was a different problem, really. 

She made a sympathetic noise, but didn’t volunteer any advice. It was probably for the best. If Daryl didn’t want anyone to know about them, if there was a them, then he shouldn’t be talking about it. 

But Carol already knew. Hell, Carl knew, Michonne probably knew. That was almost everyone important, and Rick couldn’t see the harm in telling Glenn, Maggie or Beth, either. They were family. 

But Daryl was so private. And Rick couldn’t make this kind of decision without talking to him. Really talking this time. If only he could somehow get advice without having to admit what it was about, exactly.

He felt tied up in knots, and he dropped his spoon with a sigh. 

A few of the others came out, clearly having just woken up. Just then Noah limped over with the map, and said, “We’ve been looking at our route, and Bob has some ideas.”

Rick set his bowl, and the rest of his oatmeal, aside, and joined the others around the map. Glenn came out of the hall last, yawning, and seemed a little startled to see them all standing in a circle.

Daryl pulled the map in front of him, and Rick made a space for Glenn. Looking down at the map, at the traces of pencil and marker Bob and Noah had traced across it, Rick thought he saw the problem.

In the world before, a drive from Atlanta to Washington, D.C. would have taken around ten hours. Maybe twelve or thirteen if traffic were bad.

But that was the world before. 

At their current pace, the trip would take them most of a month.

“We need to speed this up,” Noah muttered, peering over Daryl’s shoulder at the map.

Daryl cringed away from him, imperceptibly, and Rick put a hand on Noah’s shoulder.

“There’s not much we can do, son,” he told him, subtly maneuvering the boy away from Daryl’s space.

Noah sighed, and nodded. “I know you’re doing all you can.”

Rick felt a twinge of guilt at that. 

They had been taking a somewhat more leisurely pace than perhaps they could have, and the route they had talked about at the church had been perhaps overly cautious. With all the injuries, and Rick’s ongoing headaches, they had been taking it slow. And careful.

“What about the freeways?” Tara asked, sounding tentative.

Glenn shook his head. “They’ll all be like the one by Grady,” he said, referencing their trip into Atlanta. “Gridlocked.”

Beth nodded in agreement. “It’s just the bigger roads, though. A lot of the ones Daryl and me saw were totally clear.”

“Back roads,” Daryl agreed, still leaning over the map. “If we head north of Athens…” he began, dragging his finger over the map.

“We don’t want to head into the mountains, though,” Bob cautioned. “There’s not a lot of roads through the Smokies, we wouldn’t be able to backtrack.”

“You know the area?” Rick asked, glancing over at the taller man.

“Yeah, I spent some time in east Tennessee,” Bob said. “Knoxville area mostly, but I spent some time in the mountains.”

“If you can call ‘em that,” Abraham snorted. Rosita smacked his arm with the back of her hand, and he subsided.

“So we can stick to back roads,” Rick said. “It’ll take longer, but we don’t want to hit any big towns.”

“The problem’ll be getting across the river,” Daryl said, and Rick looked down at the map, where Daryl was pointing to the thin blue line of the Savannah where it widened into a series of lakes, the myriad tributaries and streams like feathery fronds splitting the land into peninsulas and islands that would be a bitch to navigate.

“So we have to take the 181 or the 368,” Morgan said grimly, moving to stand near Rick as he pointed to the two small roads that crossed one of the few narrow parts of the river. “Creates a choke point.” He paused, and something about his face then reminded Rick of how he’d been the last time they’d seen him. “Good place for an ambush.”

“Or the 29,” Daryl pointed out, tracing the edge of part of the river that looked more like a lake, the thin ribbon of highway following the southern curve. 

“But you’re right,” Rick said, biting his lip. “That won’t leave us a lot of choices.” It was enough to distract him from his relationship issues, he thought wryly.

Staring down at the map, worry gnawed at his gut like a living thing.

Once they worked out a route that everyone could agree on, they packed up quickly, and loaded the two vehicles much as they had in the days before. Bob was fitting medical supplies in the back of the minivan like a kid playing Tetris, slightly giddy – and Rick understood why. Every piece of equipment could mean a life saved, disaster averted. 

He climbed into the passenger side of the van. Sasha approached the window on his side, and he rolled it down as she grinned and thrust a bag at him. “We’re out of room,” she said cheerfully, and went back for more.

Rick hefted the bag, feeling the contents, which were light but bulky, shrugged, and set it in the seat with him as an elbow rest. It took a little of the pressure off his ribs, and he squirmed down in the seat, getting comfortable.

Daryl climbed into the driver’s seat, as Rick had expected, and they sat there for a moment. No one else had climbed into the back, so they were alone for the first time that morning. Rick looked at Daryl tentatively, mostly out of the corner of his eye.

“Are we okay?” he asked.

And Daryl gave him a look that had Rick jerking back.

Carl opened the van’s sliding door, then, and climbed in with Judith. Rick’s face was hot, and he looked carefully straight ahead as Tyreese joined them, then Sasha and Bob. Morgan followed a moment later. The mood in the back of the van was light, Bob smiling that smile of his that could brighten a room, Sasha joking with him, Tyreese joining in just a little and making Carl break his usual stoic mood.

It was all just noise. Rick couldn’t make out any of the words. They drove away some time after that. Rick watched the road, and the side of the road. Daryl drove, and they didn’t talk. 

Rick thought they would have to talk eventually, but it went on like that for days.

* * *

Everything seemed to fade as they moved east.

It was late October or even early November by now, the days getting ever shorter, and colder, and the leaves fell from the trees in a steady rain until the scrubby pines were the only spots of green in the world. They could have covered more ground, and faster, but they worked up and down the few open roads, turning back at large blockades rather than trying to push through, stopping to scavenge as they went. 

It was the safe choice, but all that safety was beginning to wear on them, in different ways.

They had gone north of Athens after all, just far enough that they mostly went through farmland and fields and stretches of increasingly barren trees, finding just the occasional isolated farmhouse or neighborhood to raid. 

They hadn’t seen another person since they’d left Atlanta. Stuck in the van, waiting for Daryl to return from searching a piece of suburbia, Rick idly wondered if they ever would again. Sometimes it felt like they were the last people left in the world.

He knew that wasn’t really true. It couldn’t be.

The neighborhood they had chosen curved back from the highway behind a Baptist church like a scythe, a straight bit with just a couple of houses before a sharp turn to a dead end where the bulk of the houses had been built. One was still under construction, never to be finished, and Glenn had taken Sasha, Bob and Abraham with him to suss out any abandoned tools or materials. Maggie had gone to search the houses with Daryl, Rosita and Michonne, so Beth had climbed into the minivan to spend some time with Judith. If that meant spending some time with Carl, at least Carl was thrilled about it. 

They were chatting easily in the back, and Rick listened to them idly while watching the road where he’d lost sight of Daryl’s group. Morgan had joined the others left in the bus, and Rick thought he should go see how things were going over there. Would they get along? It would be better if Morgan became a part of the group. Tara was friendly enough to accept anyone. Part of him thought Morgan and Carol would either get along like a house on fire, or set a house on fire, it could go either way.

His thoughts broke off when Tyreese opened the driver’s side door and climbed in next to Rick.

“You okay?” Tyreese asked, also looking out at the houses.

“Yeah,” Rick said, glancing at him. “I’m doing pretty good.”

“But not good enough to go on a run?”

Rick frowned. He’d chosen to ride next to Daryl, thinking that any change might actually look more suspicious, but he and Daryl hadn’t had a chance to talk, or get a night alone, since they’d left the medical offices. Daryl had been distant, and Rick hadn’t felt able to bridge that distance, so they’d just been pretending for the last several days. Or at least it felt that way to him.

“My father,” Tyreese began quietly, “would sometimes go days without talking to my mama.” He laughed a little. “One thing or another. He didn’t do the dishes, she burned dinner. Little fights.”

“That must’ve been hard,” Rick said hesitantly, not really sure why Tyreese was telling him this.

Tyreese shrugged. “Grew up in Jacksonville, you know? Feels like I spent my life on the beach, or the football field. Sasha, too. We weren’t all that close to them.”

“I guess I wasn’t too close to my father, either,” Rick said, feeling like he should share something with the other man. An exchange, like. “Before he died, we spoke often enough. Once a week, at least.”

“Your mom?”

“She died when I was real young.” Rick shrugged. “Only had Lori and Carl by the end. And, well.”

Tyreese nodded, his eyes understanding. “I was just … I don’t know, wishing I’d spent more time with them. Thinking they might’ve wished they’d spent more time together.”

Rick nodded slowly. “I imagine everyone feels that way about somebody.”

“You never know how much time you have left,” Tyreese said somberly. “Or how many more times you’ll get the chance to see the people you love.”

Rick thought about it, about only seeing his parents at holidays, about being busy with work, or just not wanting to bother with the drive. 

Beth leaned forward between the seats, and asked, “Are things okay with you and Daryl?”

Tyreese didn’t look surprised by the question, just expectant. 

“Everything’s fine,” Rick said, and if it wasn’t believable no one said so. “How’s Noah fitting in?” he asked, directing the question to Beth.

She sat back a little. “He’s fine. Gets along with everybody.”

“Could be hiding something,” Carl muttered, and Beth smacked his arm with the back of her hand. 

“It doesn’t have to be suspicious that he’s nice,” Beth snapped.

Rick laughed a little, and Tyreese smiled, saying, “I think he’s a good kid.”

“And we’re strong enough that we can give him a chance,” Rick said, repeating Carl’s words back to him.

Carl caught his meaning, and reddened slightly.

They might have continued talking, but just then Beth turned to say something else to Carl, and froze. 

The mood in the van iced over. Rick turned to look at whatever had spooked Beth. Tara, standing watch on top of the bus, starting sounding her alarm. Michonne was first back, sprinting past the last house with an over-full bag strapped across her back, sword in one hand. Tyreese got out of the driver’s seat, craning his neck, and waving as Sasha rounded the corner.

And then Rick saw it.

There were fields and good sightlines on three sides of them, where they’d stopped, but heavy woods to the south, coming almost up to the road, and in the dark shadows he caught glimpses of movement. A lot of movement.

They were going to be overrun.

He was out of the van in a flash, running to meet Michonne who tossed him the bag and kept sprinting right up to the bus and passing it, stopping at the rear with her katana ready. 

Whatever she’d put in the bag must be important, so Rick ran it back to the van, tossing it inside. “Carl,” he gasped, “form a line,” and pointed to Michonne. He waited for Carl’s nod, then sprinted back toward the incoming scavengers. Tyreese was beside him, and when Abraham came into view burdened by a massive auto part, unidentifiable to Rick’s untrained eye, they rushed to help him carry it. With three of them they managed to jog back to the bus, the part heavy and oddly slick, sharp edges cutting into their fingers.

Rick was counting heads as the others appeared. He saw Glenn, lugging a canvas sack black with grease; Sasha had joined Michonne and Carl behind the bus, ready to pick off the first few walkers to arrive. Abraham shouted with effort, and they heaved the part up the narrow bus stairs. Rick gasped as he let go, staggering with the release of weight. Carol’s head poked up above the edge of a bus window, a worried frown creasing her forehead.

Tara jumped down from the bus’s roof and scrabbled to help carry more of their haul. Rosita and Bob rushed past, carrying a tool box apiece, and Rick ran to meet Maggie.

But she evaded his grip. “Get Daryl,” she gasped, shifted the bundle in her arms.

Where was Daryl? 

A jolt of panic ran through him, and he thought of the map. “Load up the bus,” he told her. “If we don’t make it back, meet us west of Maysville.” She nodded, and he ran for the row of houses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now summer school has torpedoed my productivity, sorry guys. But thanks for all the support, and the comments, they mean a lot! ^_^


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl have to evade the herd.

Daryl had been in the third to last house in the development, around the bend in the road, and when Rick came sprinting toward him he was just coming out onto a deep porch. Two overstuffed bags bowed his back, and when he saw Rick he dropped both to the porch with a loud clatter.

“Get back in the house,” Rick yelled, motioning with one arm, his other hand on his gun.

Daryl stumbled back inside as Rick thundered up the porch steps. He lifted one hand, like he was reaching out to touch Rick, but pulled it back. 

A twinge of hurt snapped through Rick. He pushed that aside, growled, “Herd coming,” and grabbed the strap of one of the bags. He saw Daryl’s face change when he realized, and the other man nodded, grabbed the other bag, and they dragged their loot into the house and slammed the door shut.

Daryl dropped his bag just inside, and asked, “How many?” 

“Hundreds,” Rick said, running for the nearest piece of furniture. “The others have gone on ahead.”

“Shit,” Daryl muttered, moving to help Rick with the couch. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

Rick snorted. “Wasn’t gonna leave you,” he said, almost under his breath, focused as he was on blocking the door. No matter how Daryl had been acting, Rick wasn’t going to abandon part of his family.

“I woulda been fine,” Daryl said, strangely defiant.

Rick paused. “That’s not the point.”

“Well what is the point then?”

There was a sound from outside, and Rick froze. His hands gripped the worn fabric of the couch. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Daryl backed up a few steps, and there was something in his eyes Rick didn’t want to look at. 

“I didn’t mean …” Rick started. “I just meant. Not right now.” And tilted his head toward the door, and the growing sound of moaning outside.

“Right,” Daryl said, low. “Right. Let’s …” With a shove, he wedged the couch firmly against the door.

Rick let go, his arms swinging by his sides. He glanced out the front window, saw the herd still half of a block away. “We should get upstairs,” he breathed, reaching for the nearest bag.

Daryl nodded, still not looking at him. 

They got up the stairs just as the first of the herd began moving past the house. The moaning was loud, now, and Rick thought it was almost like the sound of the ocean, a constant susurrus that was more ominous than soothing.

Bodies thumped against the outside of the house. They were hiding in one of the front bedrooms, and Rick peeked out from behind the curtains of the nearest window.

“How many do you reckon?” Daryl asked quietly, moving to the other window. Keeping his distance.

“Not sure,” Rick whispered. “Could be a hundred, one fifty.” He watched them moving past, ambling aimlessly down the small street, clumped together in the chokepoint created by the houses covering the street solidly from the front porch of one house to the next. “Wish I knew why they did this.”

Daryl snorted. “Nobody knows why they do anything.”

Rick pulled back, letting the curtain swing back into place. “That ain’t true,” he said. “We know they attack people because they’re hungry. We know they follow loud noises.”

Daryl wasn’t looking at him, still leaning to see out his window. “That don’t explain _why_ they do it,” he muttered.

Rick paused. “I guess not.” He sank slowly to sit on the floor, propping himself up against the wall beneath the window. “Why does anyone do anything, really.”

He hadn’t meant to direct that at Daryl, but the sound released by the other man suggested he’d taken it personally. 

“I didn’t mean…” Rick began, but Daryl stalked out of the room, never looking up.

“Shit,” Rick muttered to himself. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling a wave of weariness sweep over him. He listened to the moaning dead for a moment, then pulled himself to his feet, and leaned against the wall. His arms were wrapped around his middle. He wasn’t sure what he should do.

For a long time there was just the moaning of the dead, and the unsteady thrumming of his heart.

These constant misunderstandings were killing him. He and Daryl were usually so in sync, their communication so effortless, that this new stiffness was like a constant, heavy weight on Rick’s chest. After a time, he squared his shoulders, stiffened his resolve, and went after Daryl. They needed to figure this out.

“I thought it was what you wanted,” he opened, finding Daryl in another bedroom parked in another window.

Daryl looked up, but not really at him. “I did.”

Rick stepped further into the room. “Then why … what’s wrong? Why have you been like this? Did I do something wrong?”

The sound of moaning had lessened, and he thought the herd must be passing, finally. Daryl’s shoulders were hunched, like Rick’s questions were an attack. Rick swallowed, leaned against the door jamb. His stomach was hurting, the tension crawling through him.

“I…” Rick started to say. But then Daryl hushed him, looking back out the window.

Rick couldn’t hear the moans of the dead any longer. “What is it?” he hissed.

Daryl shook his head, and Rick started to speak again, but just then he heard it too.

Voices.

“Shit,” he whispered, darting forward to join Daryl at the window, and Daryl moved aside just enough to let Rick peer through the crack left by the drapes, hung askew, without moving them and attracting attention.

And what Rick could see was trouble.

Three men that he could see had followed the herd into town. They looked rough, wearing leather and oversized clothes that made them look bigger than they really were, hair shaved off or matted with filth. The way they interacted, Rick thought there must be at least two others he couldn’t see from their vantage point. Daryl made a very soft noise, and jutted his chin a little to the right. Rick pressed into him, unable to worry about giving the other man his space just now, and saw what Daryl must have been pointing to – another man, carrying an axe. He was pointing to different houses, and Rick pulled back from the window.

“We have to hide,” Daryl said urgently, and moved toward the room’s closet just as the first footsteps fell on the porch below them.

Rick remembered being trapped in the house with the Claimers, and shook his head. “The roof,” he mouthed, pointing up.

Moving quickly, they grabbed up what they could and found a window that looked out over the back of the house. Daryl went first, muscling the window up in its moisture-warped frame and climbing out in one smooth motion. He stuck an arm back in for his bags, and Rick passed them out, following just as someone started trying to pry open the front door.

Rick closed the window, not wanting to leave any evidence they’d ever been there. Daryl caught his eyes and jerked his head toward the nearby overhang. Rick nodded, and Daryl grabbed the edge of the roof. Rick moved in to help, Daryl shoving one boot into Rick’s cupped hands, and working together they hoisted Daryl up onto the next level. 

Rick tossed up their bags, then took a short run up the sloped roof, grabbed the edge, and scrabbled at the side of the house. His battered boots didn’t get much traction. Daryl grabbed his forearm with one strong hand, and hauled him up.

Rick was panting slightly. Daryl helped him scoot a few feet back from the edge. 

They were still facing the back yard, and with the roof’s multi-level structure, they would be out of sight of anyone on the ground. 

“Think we’re good,” Daryl whispered.

Rick nodded. He could hear the men moving through the house, which meant they were probably on the second floor by now.

The shingles were rough on his skin, and hot even under the cloudy sky. Rick pulled one of the bags over to lean against, and Daryl did the same. There was a chill in the air, and the warm shingles felt almost good. 

Rick’s head was throbbing just a little, and he laid it down on the bag he was leaning against, gazing passively up at Daryl. Not watching Daryl, exactly. Sort of meditating on him. 

They couldn’t risk talking. But Rick thought about how quickly they’d come back into alignment when danger appeared, and it gave him hope that things might work out. Somehow. If they could only _talk_.

The men moved through the house beneath them, and there was shouting in the street out front – a non-urgent sort of shouting – and Daryl was tense and alert, eyes darting to all corners of the roof as if the men might climb over any edge of it. And Rick watched his alertness, and, in spite of the twinge of hurt he felt at Daryl’s distance, felt safe enough to close his eyes.

He must have dozed. He was thinking idle thoughts, and enjoying the warmth radiating up from beneath him. He was thinking about what Tyreese had been saying, about their parents. And the thought went through him, just for a moment, that he wished he’d been born to their generation. That the best part of his life had passed in peaceful, hopeful times. That he’d died long before the dead walked the earth.

He didn’t notice it, but a tear streaked across one temple, pulled by gravity. 

A hand touched his shoulder. Rick started a little, looked up at Daryl, who was gazing down at him with concern in his eyes. “You okay?” he mouthed.

Rick nodded, forced himself to sit up a little.

He couldn’t hear the men moving through the house. Perhaps an hour had passed, and Rick shifted, a little stiff from lying on the hard roof. “What’s happening?” he whispered.

Daryl squeezed his shoulder, then sat back. “They’re moving on, I think,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “A few houses down, now.”

Daryl still looked worried. Rick climbed up to the peak of the roof – it wasn’t difficult, the roof didn’t have a very steep pitch, and the shingles provided enough traction – and poked his head up quickly to get a view of the street. Daryl scrambled up to lay next to him. The street was empty. Rick could hear distant voices, and he thought they might be coming from the last house in the tract.

“You get a bead on how many?” Rick asked.

“Four or five, I think.”

A sound, he wouldn’t be able to say what, alerted him, and Rick ducked back behind the roof’s peak, pulling Daryl with him, just as another three men rounded the bend of the development.

Rick hadn’t gotten a look at them. Daryl was rigid with concern. Rick touched his arm, and Daryl glanced at him. 

The men were speaking to each other. Casually, as if they had relaxed now that the larger part of their group had cleared the subdivision. 

“We could put fences around the back,” one was saying, and Rick thought for a moment that they must be planning to fortify this place, take it as their own. It wasn’t a bad idea, he thought, though he wasn’t sure if fences would hold up if another herd that size came through.

“Naw,” retuned another. “Fences’ll just scare people off. We need lookout towers.”

“How is that less likely to scare people?” the third said, and from the way he spoke, Rick thought he must be the leader. “Bobby’s right, we need something to draw people in, and the illusion of safety is perfect.”

Rick sank down a little more.

“Can’t we worry about it later?” the second one moaned. “Now the herd’s cleaned out anyone for miles can’t we just relax for a while? I’m fucking tired.”

Daryl murmured something.

Rick couldn’t hear him.

They’d been following the herd? Setting up traps for people?

“Anyway, we can do better,” the first one said. “Get the herd turned east, find one of them gated communities.”

Rick’s blood froze.

“Herdin’ ‘em like cattle,” Daryl muttered, almost to himself.

Rick couldn’t respond. 

“Rick?” Daryl asked.

They were herding the walkers. The herd that had nearly overrun his family had been driven by these men. Steered by them. 

He was breathing hard, like he’d been running. 

These men spoke of luring people, of setting traps, of steering the herd east, where his family was headed. His family.

He had to stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the continued support! I appreciate all of your comments so much.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick attempts to stop the hostile group of men, and Daryl races after him.

“Rick!” Daryl hissed after him, but Rick was already gone.

Rick jumped down from the roof to the lower level, then moved to the edge. There was nothing beneath him, just a small bush that was overgrown. He lowered himself, legs first, and dropped to the soft earth. His right knee made a sort of crunching sound. Moving carefully, he circled around the side of the house, approaching the last of the men with soft steps. His knife was in his hand. He didn’t remember reaching for it. 

The last man had slowed, walking thoughtfully several feet behind the other two men. The other two were talking; they sounded excited, and their voices overlapped, the larger one waving to something off to one side. The last man fell back another step, fiddling with something on his belt, then another. He seemed distracted. Rick came up behind him fast, and stuck his knife in the side of the man’s throat. 

The man staggered. His hands flew up to his throat, but didn’t ever land. He fell. There was a gurgle, just a small sound. One of the other men started to turn, and Rick was on him, slashing at his face and throat. The third man turned, and saw him. He opened his mouth, started to yell, and a crossbow bolt seemed to sprout from his temple.

Daryl.

Rick hadn’t realized Daryl was with him. Startled, for a moment, he turned to look at Daryl like he’d never seen him before, like he’d never seen another person. But at the same time, it felt like Daryl belonged there, watching his back, like he’d always been there.

It was just a moment. Daryl met his eyes, dipped his head. Rick nodded back, and they were creeping down the street after the other men.

Rick thought there had been four or five others. Several had gone ahead, and he assumed they were in the woods. Daryl would have to track them. But as they moved past it, he caught a glimpse of movement in the last house, behind the upstairs windows. Rick paused. Daryl had his back. Rick caught another suggestion of a shadow moving in the last house, and moved forward with a confidence he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The front door of the last house had been broken open, and hung crookedly on its jamb. Rick shouldered past it and paused, listening. He heard a creak above, movement on hardwood floors, and followed it. His own steps were nearly silent. Up the stairs, and there, another sound from the third door on the left. Rick crept forward, and saw the man’s shadow through the open door. It was a bedroom, and the man was leaning over something. Rick flowed through the door and had his knife in the man’s back before he could straighten up.

There was a choked off sound, not a scream, but like all the air had been pushed out of the man at once. He twitched, gurgled, fell with a thump. Rick stepped back from the body, holding his knife ready, but there was no one else. 

Daryl stood in the doorway, watching him with dark, solemn eyes, eyes that Rick couldn’t quite meet. He brushed past Daryl leaving the room, and Daryl didn’t flinch away from him. 

Rick was still moving. He didn’t have time to think about any of this.

The other three or four men needed to be stopped.

And maybe three or four men on their own wouldn’t be enough to drive a herd of walkers, and maybe his family was safe enough for now, but these thoughts were small and easily buried by the part of Rick that wanted to destroy everything that could threaten his people.

Rick was pushing back out the front door when a body crashed into him.

He’d lost track of the men, or lost count. The man was big, over six foot, and he tackled Rick like a linebacker back through the door, into the house again, and Rick was slammed to the floor. 

His knife went flying. His ribs creaked. The man’s body was heavy on his, and Rick tried to throw him off but the man was hitting him, wild blows to the face and head and as he tried to wriggle away to his chest and sides and Rick got a hand over his face but the man’s fist crashed through it and Rick heard his name.

“Rick!” Daryl yelled, panic in his voice, and a crossbow must have hit the man because his face twisted and he tried to grab for Rick’s head or his throat and Rick hit him in the face, and again, but the man wasn’t going down and Rick’s head was reeling. A big arm wrapped around the man’s throat, Daryl pulling him back and off of Rick and Rick rolled to get his feet under him and Daryl was strangling the man, his forearm bulging with strain. The man was struggling, and Rick found his knife and picked it up and slammed it into the man’s face, straight through to the brain.

He went limp, and Daryl let the body sag to the floor.

They were both breathing too fast. Rick’s heart felt like it might pound out of his chest, and he leaned over a little.

“You okay?” Daryl asked, panting.

Rick went to one knee, shook his head, forced himself back to his feet.

“He wasn’t the last,” he said, gritting out the words through a throat that felt torn.

“Rick,” Daryl said slowly, “we don’t have to go after the rest. Two men ain’t a threat.”

Rick rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the ache in his ribs. “We’re two men,” he said. “And we’re a threat.”

Daryl sighed. But when Rick limped back out onto the front porch, Daryl followed.

The street was quiet. After the last house, the subdivision backed onto a field that had probably been slated for additional development. Now, it was empty, and overgrown, running into the edge of the trees to the north. They tramped through the high grass, giving up on stealth for a moment. The weeds came up to Rick’s waist, almost, and he was struggling to get through them. 

“Here,” Daryl breathed.

Rick looked back at him, and then where Daryl was pointing. A dip in the grass.

Daryl struggled through the grass, and Rick followed him. Just a few feet over, and they stood in the trail that the other men must have made, a place where two or three large men had crushed the grass flat. 

Rick breathed a sigh of relief, and nodded to Daryl to take the lead for now. Rick was decent at tracking, but he’d never know as much about it as Daryl would. 

Daryl had his crossbow up at ready. Rick kept his eyes on Daryl’s back, on his broad shoulders and the dull white wings stitched to his vest. The sunlight seemed to hit it oddly, and Rick squinted. The image of the wings blurred a little.

Then they were under the trees, and the light vanished like someone flicking a switch.

This part of the forest was mostly pine, so there wasn’t too much undergrowth, not like the woods to the south. Just deep, soft pine needles, a rust red color that seemed to whisper under their feet. They had to step carefully; the pine needles were a little slippery, and hid dry sticks and twigs that could break and give away their position. Rick kept behind Daryl, and stepped where Daryl stepped.

The trees grew close together and thick, so that the sunlight couldn’t penetrate very far. The canopy of branches was high overhead, and the trunks were bare, just small stumps of old, dead branches jutting out a few inches. They walked for a few minutes. Rick tried to peer through the trunks, which seemed to almost ripple as they moved through them and the separate trunks blurred into a brown wall that had depth and distance. 

Off to the right, there was a flicker of white.

Rick paused, tried to look past the trees. Daryl stopped, looked back at him. Rick kept peering forward, his eyes squinted a little with effort. And Rick thought he could see movement.

“Come on,” he husked, and trusted that Daryl was behind him when he darted away.

There was a chill in the deep shade, and Rick’s boots were quiet on the deep carpet of dead pine needles. They moved fast, now, but stayed low, and Rick could hear voices up ahead, the last two men, just visible through the slender tree trunks, walking casually. He glanced over to Daryl, motioned toward the man on the right. Daryl nodded, and drifted in that direction. 

Rick was focused on his target, so focused that it was almost like the rest of the world got a little quieter, and the man ahead of him seemed to loom up out of the forest, not bigger or more of a threat but somehow more present as Rick got closer. He rounded a tree and shifted his knife in his hand – 

And there was a loud crash to his right.

Rick ran to Daryl, who was struggling under a third man.

There had been a third man.

Rick tackled the man, getting him around the shoulders and sending them both rolling away from Daryl, and Rick thought Daryl was getting up, but he wasn’t sure and the man had turned on him now and unlike the other men they had killed this man knew a little about fighting. He thought he heard the other two men coming back to attack Daryl, but then he was buried under a flurry of blows that hit with brutal precision. Rick staggered back, tried to return a blow, but the man grabbed his arm and spun Rick around, the forest moving around them in a brown whirl, and then Rick’s arm was behind his back.

“Rick!” Daryl yelled, the sound short and cut off.

Rick shoved back against the man, who pulled Rick’s arm higher and higher, Rick’s shoulder protesting the strain, but he got to where he could see Daryl.

He’d put one of the last two men down, and was struggling with the second.

The man holding Rick tightened his grip, his other arm a bar across Rick’s chest. “Stop struggling,” the man growled, and Rick went a little wild, rocking back and forth, twisting against the man’s grip even as it felt like his shoulder might break.

Daryl made a sound, then, and fell.

And Rick.

* * *

Shoving, flinging himself back, and something in his shoulder gave with a loud _pop_.

* * *

Someone was screaming.

* * *

His hand was gripping the man’s throat. Just at the front. Fingers digging into skin until eyes bulged, cheeks a dull purple. Something hurt. Squeeze harder. Until there’s a dull _crack_. Then.

* * *

Shrieking, and blood, and fall to his knees next to a body. A still body. Reach out, shaking fingers, poke right between the shoulder blades. Red smudge on white wings.

* * *

Movement, and sound, returned slowly.

Rick would never be sure later how much time had passed, or what exactly he’d done.

All Rick knew was that, sometime after dark, he was walking through a field. 

Daryl was next to him, a hand on his arm like a guide, or a guard. 

Rick’s shoulder hurt. 

Daryl was carrying a pack, and his crossbow. Rick had his gun, and his knife.

“Daryl?” he asked. His voice was rough, his throat so dry it sent him coughing.

Daryl passed him a canteen without a word. When Rick was done drinking, Daryl started walking again. Rick moved with him, thinking about the hand on his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am doing a bit of traveling, so it might be a while until the next chapter. It's coming! Just maybe delayed.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl deal with the aftermath of Rick's attack on the herders, and they get a chance to talk (finally).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, traveling is super fun and distracting, guys, and I didn't exactly get a lot of work done on this. Also, the boys were being assholes about talking, so this chapter became a bit of a beast to write. Sorry for the delay! I'm back, so hopefully the update schedule will even out. :)

They’d had to abandon most of the supplies Daryl had dragged up onto the roof. It just wasn’t practical to go back for them, not after all the noise, he said. Rick wasn’t sure what noise Daryl meant, but he didn’t want to ask any questions just then.

The sun went down. They walked into the night for another hour or so. For Rick, the time passed slowly, almost as if to make up for the stretch of time he couldn’t remember. The new aches and pains layered over the old injuries made every step an agony, his throat, ribs, and shoulder skewing his steps and fogging his attention. Daryl’s hand stayed on Rick’s arm, guiding him around trees, stopping him sometimes to let walkers pass, and in this slow, unsteady way they crossed the field, through another patch of forest, a road, an abandoned farm, and back into the trees.

They didn’t speak. A few times Rick started to say something, but Daryl motioned urgently for silence, and Rick obeyed, not knowing what might have alerted the hunter. Daryl never initiated conversation, and even when they stopped, finally, Daryl set up a small campsite without a sound.

Rick set his back against a tree and sagged, pain rolling over him, somehow worse now that he was still. He watched Daryl set a few string lines and traps, and dig a small pit for a smaller fire in the center of them. Daryl spread the few blankets they had next to the little tongue of flame, then looked at him.

Whatever he saw on Rick’s face, Daryl came over to where Rick was leaning on the tree and put a hand on his arm.

“You okay?” Daryl asked.

Rick thought that seemed unusual, that Daryl would check on him, though for a moment he couldn’t say why. 

Rick’s legs went out from under him, and Daryl helped him sink down to the ground. Rick realized he was shaking.

“What, um, what …”

Daryl looked away. Rick looked down at his hands, which were still trembling. They sat quietly for a while. Rick couldn’t look away from his fingers. There was something slightly tacky on his skin, like he’d gotten something sticky on his hands and hadn’t cleaned it up very well, and his fingers were working at each other compulsively.

After a while, without saying anything, Daryl went to sit down on the blankets, leaving Rick sitting with his back to the tree.

Rick watched him go. 

Daryl opened the pack he’d managed to drag from the subdivision, and pulled out a small bag that crinkled. He pulled the top of the little bag apart, stuck two fingers inside, and came out with a small, tan square that crunched loudly between his teeth. Rick watched him, and Daryl kept eating. He didn’t look over at Rick, but Rick had the impression of being watched in return.

After a while, Daryl said, “You hungry?” And waved the little bag at him.

Rick shook his head. Daryl did look at him then, sighed, and pulled out a different bag. This one was bright red, and it didn’t crinkle so much as rustle. “Eat,” Daryl said, and tossed the bag at him.

Rick caught it. He hadn’t planned to catch it, but his hand appeared in mid-air and the bag landed in it and his fingers closed around it – too hard, crushing whatever was inside. He looked at it for a moment. Doritos, it read. Rick pried the bag open, and looked inside. The chips had broken into fragments and dust. He poked the dust, and his finger came out stained electric orange. 

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl muttered, and got up again.

Daryl was walking toward him. Rick felt a sudden wave of anxiety rise up in him, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“Come on,” Daryl said roughly, holding out his hand. 

Rick stared up at the hand for a moment, then took it and Daryl pulled him to his feet. Rick’s head swam, and he leaned heavily into Daryl’s warmth. Supporting him, Daryl led him toward the fire. Rick’s feet felt numb and moved clumsily through the leaf litter. Daryl’s hands were careful, one grasping his arm and another at Rick’s side, just beneath his ribs, warm on his skin like brands even through his shirt. Rick realized he was cold, and a shiver ran through him. The chip bag clutched in his hand rattled as they approached the fire and Rick was lowered to sit beside it. He looked up at Daryl, who was frowning at something slightly to Rick’s left in that way he had of not meeting the eyes of the person he was concerned about.

“Daryl?” he asked, but received no answer.

Rick was arranged on the blanket next to the small fire by Daryl’s strong arms, and he let it happen, and let Daryl curl up behind him and wrap one big arm around his chest.

The chip bag was still, absurdly, in his hand. He watched it for a little while in the flickering light of the fire.

“Warm enough?” Daryl gruffed after some time had passed, and Rick let his hand relax, the chip bag falling to the ground as he sank further into Daryl’s arms. 

“Yeah,” Rick whispered, wrapping his hand around Daryl’s arm where it protected his belly. 

“Then go to sleep,” Daryl said, and was quiet.

Rick watched the fire for just a little longer, but, warm and exhausted, soon fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

If he thought things would be clearer in the morning, he was mistaken.

Rick woke stiff and sore, and alone. Daryl was already breaking down camp, though the sun hadn’t yet risen and the darkness was just barely lightened by a pre-dawn gray tinge off to the east. Daryl moved quickly, efficiently dismantling the traps and recoiling the wire he’d used for trip-lines, gathering a small squirrel caught in one of his traps, repacking the single bag he’d managed to save.

Rick watched this happen, not sitting up. He still couldn’t remember everything that had happened in the subdivision, but he was starting to feel like he knew what had happened. His hands were especially stiff in the way they got when he’d punched a great many people, and the soreness of his face and ribs suggested he’d been hit by those people, as well. And his skin was just faintly sticky. He could only think that he’d been covered in blood. And cleaned too quickly. So that a residue rendered his skin tacky, and the whole of him felt unclean now and there was no way to wash it off and he’d been like this for a day, at least, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep going.

Daryl suddenly grabbed his hands, and Rick realized he’d been rubbing them together, hard enough that his skin was red. His breath was coming too fast, and he looked up at Daryl, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.

The lack of connection felt like a knife in his heart, and his eyes dropped to the ground. He couldn’t slow down his breathing, he was gasping now and Daryl still had his hands and Rick tried to free them, tried to sit up like that would help him breathe.

“Stop it,” Daryl said harshly, shaking him a little.

Rick looked up at him again, panting. “Can’t,” he managed.

Daryl wrapped both arms around him and got him upright, holding so tight Rick thought the breath might be squeezed out of him anyway. 

“You gotta stop this,” Daryl said, digging his chin into Rick’s shoulder, and Rick thought he should object to being held from behind like this, pinned and unable to move, but it was Daryl, and even with how Daryl had been acting the last few days Rick trusted this man, and couldn’t feel anything but safe in his arms.

But at the same time, he couldn’t just stop feeling like this.

Daryl squeezed him even tighter, and Rick realized he’d been trying to pull away. He stilled, and Daryl relaxed his hold just a little.

They stayed like that for some time. The sun came up. The woods around them came into view as the light picked out first the outline of the tree trunks, then the colors of them, green and gold and the red Georgia clay beneath the scattered brown pine needles. Rick watched the world awake around them, the sounds of the animals changing slightly as birds began to communicate, insects buzzing lazily as the sun rose overhead, and slowly Rick began to calm, and was able to breathe again.

Daryl must have judged him fit, for he climbed to his feet, clapped Rick on the shoulder, and went back to packing like nothing had happened.

Rick did feel steadier, but also bereft.

Daryl had been there for him, and seemingly would always been there for him, but he wouldn’t be _with_ him. Rick’s face twisted as he thought of that night, and how close he’d felt to the other man, and then the distance between them afterward. What had he done wrong? Daryl was hot and cold, supporting him one minute and leaving him on his own the next. Rick just couldn’t understand. He watched Daryl move about the clearing for a few moments, the other man reviving the small fire, setting a bit of water to boil, his movements as graceful and distant as ever.

“Why did you sleep with me?” Rick asked. His voice seemed far away, and slightly muffled.

Daryl froze. Rick couldn’t read the expression on his face, but whatever it meant, he had to look away from it, couldn’t stand to keep looking at it.

Daryl breathed. “Shouldn’t’ve done that,” he muttered, backing up a step.

Rick nodded. That’s what he’d thought. “I get it,” he offered, looking down at the red dust, his trembling fingers.

“That ain’t,” Daryl started, stopped.

“What?” Rick asked, not sure he wanted an answer.

Daryl turned away. “Knew you weren’t ready,” he said, and he sounded ashamed. “Shouldn’t’ve made you.”

A flush of hot anger worked through Rick, hot as the fire at his back, hurt pride steadying his hands and pounding in his head. “What?” he asked again, and even he could tell how different his voice was this time. It wrenched at Daryl’s shoulders. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Daryl still wouldn’t look at him. “Just,” he paused, gestured, “you … I took advantage.”

Rick stared at him. “No,” he managed after a long moment. “No you didn’t.”

“You were hurt,” Daryl said, “didn’t know what you wanted. I made you.”

Rick reeled, baffled. “What?” He shook his head, trying to look at that night again. It wasn’t coming together. “Wh-”

“Stop saying that,” Daryl said, backing up a few steps.

“Could you look at me?” Rick asked, pulling himself to his feet. The crushed bag of chips he’d abandoned in the night fell at his feet. Neither noticed. “Please?”

Daryl hesitated, but after a moment turned just enough that Rick could see his face. It was awful, on the verge of tears, and the last of Rick’s anger drained out of him, abruptly, like pus from a punctured abscess. He took a step forward, stopped when Daryl flinched.

“Sorry,” Daryl said.

Rick shook his head. “I wanted to,” he said, keeping his voice level. It was the voice he used when trying to diffuse tense situations; Lori had called it his sheriff voice, and hated it. But Daryl seemed to lose just a bit of tension, hearing it. “I said yes because I wanted to.” His hurt was less easily erased. “I thought … the way you’ve been acting, I thought you changed your mind. About us.”

“No,” Daryl said, quickly enough that Rick believed it. “But I… you ain’t been right for a long time, Rick,” Daryl said, still a picture of shame and regret. “You ain’t seen yourself. I shoulda waited.”

Rick had to look down at that. Part of him knew that, knew he hadn't been right. Part of him knew he wouldn't ever be right again. But. “Maybe that's so,” he acknowledged. “But I knew what I was saying.” He licked his lips. “Still do.”

“What’s that mean?” Daryl asked, looking a little hopeful.

He hated talking. He’d never liked having to name his feelings, or deal with conflict. But maybe that had caused at least part of their problem. Rick grimaced, but forced himself to say, “I like you. I liked that we were in a relationship. Or, I thought we were.” 

“We were,” Daryl admitted. “I …” He took a breath, turned to face Rick so that Rick could see his eyes. “I like you, too.”

Rick nodded. “Well, good.” He stepped closer, and this time Daryl didn’t back up. “And just to be clear, I liked sleeping with you.”

Daryl nodded sheepishly. “Me, too. Um.” He squared his shoulders. “And having sex. Was. Good, yeah.”

Rick had to smile at that. Daryl always had been braver than him. “Yeah, that too.” Another step. “So, you gonna stop avoiding me?”

Daryl’s mouth turned down at the corner. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t know … didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

“I always want to talk to you,” Rick said, shrugging. 

Daryl snorted. “Sure, chatty cathy.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.” Daryl had been honest, so Rick steeled himself, and said, “I like spending time with you. No matter what we’re doing.”

Daryl finally took a step forward, meeting Rick. That hopeful look was back. “Me, too,” he said, reaching out and touching Rick’s arm.

Rick surged forward, and pressed a kiss to Daryl’s lips. Daryl didn’t move for a moment, seeming startled into stillness. But then his other hand came up to grip Rick’s shoulder, and he tilted his head, opening to Rick.

Rick pulled back, panting just a little. “So we’re okay?” he asked, catching Daryl’s eyes.

Daryl held his gaze, the blue-green of his eyes steady and something peaceful Rick wanted to lose himself in. “We’re okay,” he said.

And Rick believed him, and leaned in for another kiss.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl get a little time alone. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this makes the rating explicit? If you disagree, just let me know. :)

Rick still felt strangely weak, and Daryl’s every move conjured up aches and pains, but Rick wanted so badly to be close to him. He pressed into the kiss, and Daryl was kissing him back. His tongue licked over Rick’s lips, and Rick opened to him, and had to clutch at Daryl’s shoulders as his knees suddenly turned to water. 

Daryl chuffed a small laugh, and guided Rick backwards, still kissing him, and the next thing Rick knew he was pressed up against the broad trunk of a tree. Daryl shouldered into his space, pressing a hard, muscled thigh between Rick’s legs, and Rick moaned desperately into Daryl’s mouth. Daryl could feel Rick’s hardness, and he pushed up against Rick, and Rick was scrabbling at Daryl’s back, trying to find something to hold onto and not getting a grip in the thick leather of Daryl’s vest.

Daryl moved down to kiss at Rick’s jaw, his neck, moving lower and Rick was pinned against the tree, his head falling back and he could see the last hint of stars in the lightening sky. Daryl pulled at his shirt where it was tucked into his waistband, and Rick, head spinning a little, reached between them to help, fumbling at the buttons. 

“Stoppit,” Daryl muttered, brushing his hands away gently and unbuttoning his shirt with sure, steady movements. Rick hung onto his shoulders, and tried to lean down for a kiss.

Something in his ribs twinged.

Rick yelped, and Daryl helped him straighten back up. “Just hold still,” Daryl said. “Let me.”

Rick nodded breathlessly, and Daryl used one big shoulder to pin him to the tree while pulling at Rick’s jeans, his strong fingers pulling the button fly open with ease. Rick, so turned on he couldn’t think, clung to Daryl’s arm and mouthed kisses along the side of his neck, down his shoulder, tasting salt and sweat and leather. “Daryl,” he murmured, just to hear the word.

“Shh,” Daryl whispered, tugging at his own fly. And then he’d pulled his cock through the zip, not even bothering to get his pants down, and he was pressing up against Rick, pushing him back into the tree, and Rick moaned at the feeling.

“You okay?” Daryl asked.

“It’s good, it’s good,” Rick panted, arching against him.

And then Daryl was rutting up against him, and Rick gasped, grabbing onto Daryl’s back so tightly it must have hurt, but Daryl just turned his head and caught Rick’s mouth in a searing kiss. Working a hand between them, Daryl caught both their cocks in his broad hand, and Rick fell into the sensation, remembering their night in the clinic and hoping it would end differently. But he couldn’t think anymore, and he pulled away from their kiss to press his forehead into Daryl’s shoulder, his lips pulling taut with a pleasure so intense it was almost pain.

Daryl was twisting his hand over both of them, and Rick got one leg up around Daryl’s hips so they were even closer, and biting down on Daryl’s shoulder Rick came.

“Rick,” Daryl whispered, pressing the sound into Rick’s hair, and a few more thrusts and he was coming, hot fluid striping Rick’s belly.

Rick was panting. Still holding on to Daryl for support, Rick leaned back a little, feeling as if he were coming back to himself.

Daryl wasn’t looking at him. Rick’s heart sank. Chest still heaving, he managed, “We okay?”

Daryl started, wide eyes coming up to meet his. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “We’re good.”

And with gentle movements he straightened out Rick’s clothes, and his own, and pulled him into his arms.

Relieved, Rick felt able to relax into the embrace, and they kissed lazily for a while.

* * *

They should have kept running through the night.

The herd hadn’t been turned, not entirely, but as the sun broke through the tree cover a few stragglers caught up to them. Daryl heard them – the first Rick knew of it, Daryl was pulling away from him, cursing. Rick felt a momentary pang of hurt, before realizing that Daryl had spotted danger. 

His head still reeling from the emotional turmoil – and the hand job, if he were honest – Rick staggered upright as Daryl hastily gathered the last of their things and tugged Rick away from the fire. They ran, then, and Rick glanced back at the fire as they left the clearing. Daryl had kicked dirt over it, but they hadn’t had time to make sure it was completely out.

He couldn’t think about it for long. Daryl kept a hand clamped around Rick’s wrist for a few feet, until he was sure Rick was keeping up. Then they were running side by side, so fast the trees seemed to blur around them. Unencumbered by their supplies, Rick was able to set a quick pace, and Daryl stayed with him, head turning continually as he scanned the forest ahead of them, checking for more walkers, changes in the terrain, and other things Rick couldn’t imagine. Rick just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and on not slowing Daryl down any more. 

The light was brighter ahead, and Daryl changed their course just slightly, shifting them toward the road signaled by the break in the foliage. Rick stumbled a little, then caught the change and followed Daryl onto the empty blacktop.

They paused just for a moment, both breathing deeply. 

“Which way?” Rick panted.

Daryl tossed his head, and Rick turned to look in that direction – more woods, thicker than the last stretch. Then they heard the walkers moaning behind them, and they had to run again.

The footing was a lot worse here. More deciduous trees than pine, this stretch of forest was tangled with undergrowth – bushes, saplings, the spreading vines of poison ivy and poison oak. Rick’s feet kept getting caught on vines, thorns piercing easily through his battered jeans, even flowers reaching up as if to capture him. Daryl had to grab his hand again, and Rick swallowed his pride and let Daryl lead him through the seemingly impassable terrain.

Somehow Daryl knew where to step, how to turn, and he moved through the thick underbrush with barely a noise. Rick was a lumbering behemoth in comparison, and even with Daryl’s help he tripped over a half-hidden log and slammed his shoulder into a tree trunk.

Daryl paused. “You okay?” he asked quickly, sounding a little impatient.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Rick insisted, not rubbing at the ache in his shoulder. Daryl nodded, once, and set off a little more slowly. 

They vanished into the thicker undergrowth, and Daryl changed directions several times, until Rick was lost and dizzy with it, and the moans of the undead had faded from hearing. Once Daryl thought it safe enough, they were able to slow, and make their way to the rendezvous point.

Rick watched Daryl intently, trying to copy his movements now that they were jogging a little more slowly and Rick could pay attention to something other than staying upright. Daryl’s movements were smooth, and looked easy until Rick tried to copy them, and realized how much attention and sheer muscle went into moving that gracefully. And he looked at Daryl with new eyes, realizing that his seemingly easy steps were borne of skill and effort; Daryl’s back was straight, and Rick watched the back of his neck, noticing, perhaps for the first time, how square his shoulders were, how little he moved his arms. The way he shifted his weight deliberately, carefully, more like a dancer than anything else.

Trying to move like him, Rick felt the forest around them shift, almost, like it was different, or he was different, or at least moving through the world in a new way. Where Daryl stepped, he stepped. When Daryl turned his shoulders sideways to slip between two trees, Rick did the same. When Daryl ducked to avoid a branch, rather than moving it aside, Rick crouched down to follow, ignoring the pressure on his ribs. And as they moved together, Rick felt like he was finally understanding something. He could hear birds, the rustle of small mammals in the undergrowth, the song of the forest usually obscured by his own loud movements. Daryl was just ahead of him, and Rick was so focused on his back that the pain seemed to melt away. Step, turn, step again, moving around obstacles rather than through them, gliding through the woods like two ghosts, or two animals that belonged among the trees.

But after a while Rick’s strength began to flag. His movements became clumsier, trying to mimic Daryl but bumping into things – tearing his shirt sleeve on thorns, seeing a low hanging branch at the last second and trying to duck but catching it right in the eyes.

“Hey,” Daryl said, grabbing him by the arm. “You okay?”

Rick found he was panting. “I’m,” he started, and Daryl squinted at him. “Um, thirsty?”

Daryl nodded, as if satisfied. “Sit down, I’ll get some water.”

“I can—”

“Siddown,” Daryl growled, and Rick thumped down cross legged in the dirt. Daryl sighed at him. “Be right back.”

“Kay,” Rick said weakly, watching him go.

He was tired. His feet felt a size too large, his ribs were aching, and even his fingers felt swollen, too big for his skin. Blood throbbed in them, and in his head, and his throat was sticky with thirst now that he was thinking about it.

Daryl returned quickly. Rick wondered if they had been following a creek, or something, but didn’t ask as Daryl tossed him a bottle of water and suddenly that was all he could think about. He knew better than to gulp it down. He wanted to. But he took slow sips, just wetting his throat at first, then longer draughts when he’d gotten used to the feeling. 

Daryl watched him, drinking a little himself, and after he’d finished the first bottle, handed him another, and a packet of cheddar goldfish.

Rick looked down at the snack, feeling slightly bemused. Chips, cheesy crackers, what else would Daryl pull out of that sack? “You get anything other than snack food?”

“It’s what they had,” Daryl said, looking slightly sheepish. Rick felt bad, suddenly. He hadn’t meant to put down Daryl’s scavenging abilities. 

“I, uh, I didn’t mean,” Rick began.

Daryl snorted a laugh. “Finish your goldfish, and I’ll give you a treat.”

Rick perked up a little, thinking of their earlier kiss. “Deal,” he said, and ate the rest of his crackers down to the crumbs. It was just a few bites, portioned for a child’s lunchbox, so it wasn’t exactly an arduous task. “So what kind of treat?”

What hit him in the face was a white geometric shape, with brown stripes. It fell to his lap, and he looked down at it, his brows crinkling. “What the fuck?”

“Issa zebra cake,” Daryl said, unwrapping another for himself and taking a large bite. “Is good.”

Rick hadn’t done the shopping, before. Laurie had managed the household, especially everything to do with Carl, and while Rick hadn’t ever really examined the contents of Carl’s lunches, he was sure nothing this artificial had ever been allowed. Shane had enjoyed junk food (and that memory caused a small pang), but more of the chili dogs and beer kind. But those were different times. Rick shrugged, unwrapped the small cake, and bit into it.

Sugar hit his bloodstream like a hammer, and he felt awake for what seemed like the first time in his life. “Damn,” he said, and inhaled the rest.

Daryl was laughing at him. “You want another?”

Rick was licking the cellophane wrapper. “You have another?”

Daryl sobered a little. “Shouldn’t keep eating sugar on an empty stomach, make you sick.”

Rick sighed, but nodded. “Alright.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Got any more of them crackers?”

Daryl rolled his eyes, but tossed him another pack.

“Are we far from the others?” Rick asked while he was eating.

Daryl looked up into the tree branches, as if that would tell him something. “Another few miles. We’ll hit it before dark.”

“Good,” Rick said. He didn’t entirely mean it. Something twisted uneasily in his stomach at the thought of seeing his family again. Maybe it was just the sugar, but maybe it was everything he’d done the day before and couldn’t quite remember. 

He was eating more slowly now, and Daryl must have noticed that something was wrong. “Hey, you okay?”

Rick shrugged. “Just, um, thinking about those men.”

Daryl scowled. “Ain’t nothing to think about. You were right, they were a threat.”

“That simple?” Rick asked, a little desperately. “I did the right thing?”

He wasn’t asking just about yesterday, and Daryl seemed to get that. “Yeah,” Daryl said. “You did the right thing.”

Rick was shaking, then, and suddenly he was in Daryl’s arms, and Daryl was saying, “It’s okay, we’re okay. You had to do it. It’s okay.”

The strange shaking passed quickly, this time, in Daryl’s arms, and Rick calmed down and was able to straighten up and say, “We should get moving.”

“You sure?”

Rick smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks.”

“You got it,” Daryl said, and helped Rick up and brushed leaves off his pants and gathered up the packs and started back into the trees.

Rick followed him only a little more slowly, feeling more distant from his own body, oddly, but also lighter. Like he’d lost something, but it was something he didn’t need.

And he followed Daryl into the woods, and mirrored his every step.

* * *

They stepped out of the trees as the sun was just starting to set. Insects hummed lazily, and the afternoon had mellowed into the kind of heat that wasn’t unpleasant to walk in. The air seemed golden, catching the last bits of light. Daryl had taken Rick’s hand again, and they approached their family together.

The two vehicles were waiting just where Rick had pointed on the map, a stretch of road just outside of Maysville. Rick could see them in the distance, and he started walking a little faster without realizing it. All the fear he’d felt the day before melted away into eagerness.

There was a shout as they were spotted, and Michonne popped up on top of the bus, waving to them once, and Carl was running toward them. “Dad!” he shouted, and Rick ran a little faster into Carl’s arms. “Dad, you’re okay,” Carl said, squeezing him tight.

Rick winced a little, and tried to hide it. “Yeah, son, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Carl said, sounding frustrated as he pulled back. “You’re hurt again, I can tell.”

“Not too badly,” Rick offered sheepishly. “There was, uh…”

“Ran into some bad men,” Daryl said nonchalantly. “Had to take care of ‘em.”

“Oh,” Carl said. “We wondered what was taking so long.”

Rick looked toward the others, who were keeping their distance while father and son reconnected. “What about you, was everything okay here?”

“Yeah, it was easy,” Carl said. “We’re fine. Where are you hurt?”

Rick bit his lip, trying to decide how to answer. Part of him remembered how angry Carl had been the last time he’d gotten very badly hurt, after the prison. He’d been so much more patient in the times since then, especially after Terminus, but part of Rick thought that every time might be like that time, and put a rift between them. “Just a few bruises.”

Carl looked skeptical, but didn’t press. “Well, we were just putting together some lunch. Come on.”

He turned to lead them back to the others, and Rick watched him go with a proud smile.

“How you want to handle this?” Daryl asked, stopping beside Rick.

“What do you mean?” Rick asked, a sudden pang of worry shooting through him. “Do you want to keep quiet?”

Daryl looked down. “If that’s what you want.”

“Well,” Rick started, “that ain’t what I want.” And he reached out and caught Daryl’s hand in his. “That ain’t it at all.”

Daryl looked at their joined hands, then up at Rick’s determined expression. Something in him seemed to ease, and his eyes seemed somehow to lighten. “Well, alright then,” he said, and they walked into camp that way, hand in hand.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short bridge chapter building to the next major plot point. I am working on this, and I will finish it, I promise. I admit that my enthusiasm took a battering in the recent season, but I'm just ... ignoring canon, and forging ahead. Thanks for sticking with me.

They continued east for another week or so, moving slowly as Rick healed from his latest injuries. This part of Georgia was mostly farmland, or national park, and people had always been few and far between. It was almost peaceful, and they had a chance to relax, even while they were moving. The lessened tension between Rick and Daryl had a lot to do with it, Rick had to acknowledge. 

They weren’t any more affectionate with each other than they had been at the prison, but they had that same ease, which Rick hadn’t even realized had been missing. Daryl was free with his touching, patting Rick on the shoulder or belly as they passed, pressing close to him at night to share warmth as the days grew shorter and the air chilly with the end of fall, passing him bits of food and bringing back handy tools or a nice blanket when he went out to scavenge. It was like Rick’s verbal acceptance of their relationship had eased something in him all the nonverbal communication never could.

That seemed odd to Rick, since he hadn’t ever thought of Daryl as one for talking, but then again, it also relaxed something in him to know for sure where they stood.

They took a route slightly north of what they wanted. Rick thought it might be October when they skimmed the southern edges of the Smoky Mountains, the leaves turning and the nights growing cold. They stopped a few times, for a night in a speck of a town called Cleveland when they found it empty and abandoned, though it had only ever been a gas station, a bbq joint, a post office, and little more. They stopped for a weekend in Golden Grove when they all agreed they needed a break. Rick was healing slowly, but he was healing, and the slower pace made it easier. Every day, he felt a little closer to himself.

They weren’t finding a lot of salvage on this route. They were in deeply wooded country, even when they came down out of the foothills, and they passed single homes, a lot of churches, gas stations, places that sold hunting and fishing equipment, fireworks, and antiques. Some of that was useful, but not as much as Rick would like, so when they came across a strip mall just outside of Tigerville they decided to look around for more substantial loot.

They stopped in the empty parking lot of an outlet mall on a clear, cool afternoon, the sun sinking toward the horizon but an hour off, perhaps, from sunset. Rick climbed out of the passenger’s side of the minivan, and the kids piled out of the back. For a second, just for a second, it was like shopping trips, soccer runs, like the world hadn’t ended. Then he glanced over at the burned out hulk of a gas station, the weeds growing up through cracks in the blackened concrete, and lost the illusion.

“You okay?” Tyreese asked, hefting Judith as he stopped by Rick.

“Yeah, fine,” Rick said, patting his arm. “Just, uh, fuzzed out for a minute. Thanks.”

“Should we stay a few days?” Carl asked, adjusting his hat and squinting up at Rick, the late afternoon light hitting him squarely in the face.

“It’s getting colder,” Rick began slowly. “Might want to look for some clothes, blankets.”

Glenn joined them as he finished speaking, and grinned a little. “Good thinking,” he said, glancing at Maggie. “What do you think, babe?”

“There are some things we’re gonna need,” she said.

And she held her hands close to her flat belly in a way that Rick thought he recognized. Glenn was grinning, still, and Sasha made a small sound. “Are y’all…”

“Pregnant,” Maggie said, her excitement a touch subdued. Glenn threw an arm around her, nervous but beaming.

“Holy shit,” Carl said.

“Watch it,” Rick muttered, tugging on his sleeve, and Carl shot him an apologetic look.

“He’s right,” Daryl said, shrugging. “We can’t be having a baby on the road.”

“Not in the winter,” Rick said, remembering Lori, her thin frame, the almost grotesque bulge of her belly all out of proportion to her thin arms and thin legs, only growing thinner. “Not again.”

“We need a place to stay,” Michonne offered. “Someplace fortified.”

“Like the prison,” Glenn said, and his voice was a touch wistful.

They all fell silent for a moment, even the new additions recognizing the significance of the loss. A prison. It had been perfect, for a time. 

“Could we go back?” Carl asked softly.

Rick shook his head, and Morgan said, “The walls were down, son. I do not think we could repair such damage.”

“Eugene?” Rosita offered, but very tentatively.

Eugene hadn’t joined the group, still resting in the back of the bus, away from Abraham. They all turned toward where he was, even though they couldn’t make out any details through the dusty glass. 

“Even if he knew how,” Abraham said roughly, “we don’t have the manpower to do anything about it.”

“He’s right,” Rick said lowly.

“We stick to the plan,” Maggie said. “It’s a good one. We just … pick up the pace, a little.”

Glenn clapped his hands. “Let’s strip this place bare,” he said, and started for the nearest clothing store.

“I got his back,” Morgan offered, trotting after him, Tara on his heels.

The others divided up, and Rick found himself in a shoe store with Daryl, Sasha and Bob, who had a list of everyone’s sizes, hastily gathered. They worked through the stock fairly quickly, finding good, sturdy boots for everyone – some in slightly more gaudy colors than others.

“Pink?” Carl protested, taking his pair of hiking boots.

“They didn’t have many things in your size, sorry,” Sasha said, with a hint of mischievousness about her.

“Did you even check the back?” Carl asked, and Rick clapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, I checked.” He shrugged. “Best we could do.” And tossed Carl a jar of black shoe polish.

Carl grumbled, but in an accepting way. Rick took his own pair with a grin of thanks to Daryl, who had found cowboy boots for him, and a pair of black motorcycle boots for himself. They took a few extra pairs, anything practical in the sizes they needed, more boots, and sneakers, and some sandals, even. Since they had the bus, Rick felt the need to use the space, and hoard anything they could get their hands on.

Abraham and Rosita emerged from another store with cooking gear, knives and pots and a mandolin. Michonne had found a store that had sold baby things, before, and she came back with an armful and a demand for more bodies. 

“I can help,” Beth offered, and Noah immediately followed. 

“I could help, too,” Carl said, watching them go.

“Just hang tight,” Rick said, before following them. For whatever reason, they hadn’t seen more than a few zombies together in days, maybe weeks. Since they’d hit the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, Rick guessed, the population before the apocalypse had been low enough that there just hadn’t been many people to become zombies afterward. Even so, he wanted Carl to stay with Tyreese and Judith – something about Tyreese made him feel like everything would be okay. A lot of the group felt the same; Rick had seen Noah gravitating to the big man, when he wasn’t chasing Beth around, and without Tyreese, Rick didn’t think Sasha would be as okay as she was, smiling and laughing with Bob, but always a little brighter, a little louder, when her big brother was within sight.

* * *

It was slow going. They avoided the major roads, even the highways sometimes if they could, sticking to back roads that no one had been trying to use for an evacuation. Things were a little harder in South Carolina, until Daryl found them a new map at a gas station. They were still moving through farm country, mostly, avoiding anything like a town and holing up in isolated farm houses for the night. It was another week before they crossed I-26, and while no one liked how long it was taking, they all appreciated how safe they had been. Noah and Beth started keeping a tally, and they were on day 22 without a zombie sighting when they hit the border of North Carolina.

They only knew because of the map, and if the kids hadn’t been keeping the tally, they might not have known then. They crossed in the early morning, and the border was a plowed field that had never been planted, grown over now with scrub but just enough in a planned shape that they could tell what it had been. 

That evening, they were looking at the only bridge in a hundred miles across the Broad River. 

The crossing was just the road, the bridge, and the water. Rick didn’t know if flooding might be a concern, but there weren’t any structures within a mile or so of the river itself, at least not according to the map, just a bend or two in the small, thread-like roads that could indicate a small neighborhood, or a service station. The road itself was hemmed in by trees on both sides, sparse pines but enough to block any real line of sight, and they stopped for the night at a run-off, a little bit of gravel road intended for people to turn around in. It made a sheltered-enough spot, almost a clearing beneath the tall trees, and they were practiced at using the two vehicles to make a V-shaped shelter. 

They set up a few tents, and Carol put together cookies, somehow, from the supplies they’d gathered. There was an air of celebration about the camp. It was nothing like the camp at the quarry, back at the beginning of all this. The tents were close together, in the lee of the vehicles, and the whole camp was focused more on defense than privacy. It wasn’t ideal, for some things, but they were all safer this way. Seeing his family sitting around small fires, eating freshly baked cookies, of all things (and who knew you could bake over an open fire), Rick thought to himself that this was all he’d ever wanted. 

He shared a tent with Daryl, that night. Daryl touched him gently, and he hid any noises in the crook of Daryl’s neck, and afterward they curled up together and Rick felt safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the proverbial: For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind: it hath no stalk: the bud shall yield no meal: if so be it yield, the strangers shall swallow it up. Hosea 8:7  
> I was arguing with a friend about whether Rick would ever go as dark as the Governor, and we pretty much agreed that he would, but only if he lost Carl and Judith. So this fic is exploring what would happen if he thought he’d lost everyone, and whether he could come back from it. For this to work, I changed some things that happen in "Terminus."  
> I’m also trying to work with slightly more realistic healing times for Rick’s injuries from his fight with the Governor. If that timeline worked out by the wiki is right, then it’s only been about eight days since the prison fell, and if we go with the inside the episode featurettes, then Rick definitely has broken ribs, and probably a fractured bone in his face, definitely concussed, and that bullet wound to the thigh. No way that all heals up in eight days, so he’s still dealing with pain and stiffness, at the least.


End file.
